


Skilful with a Sword

by merryfortune



Category: Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Blood Kink, Body Worship, Bondage, Boot Worship, Bratting, Breast Worship, Breastfeeding, Breeding Kink, Consensual Non-Consent, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Figging, Foot Fetish, Foot Jobs, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Impact Play, Lingerie, Making Out, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mother Complex, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Oral Sex, Oviposition, Piss kink, Prompt Fill, Scissoring, Selfcest, Sex Magic, Tentaclits, Vibrators, Voyeurism, Wing Kink, soft dom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:48:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 40,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26225914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merryfortune/pseuds/merryfortune
Summary: Swordplay and other phallic metaphors abound in this Kinktober-esque prompt challenge. Chapter 1 serves as a Table of Contents for more extensive tagging and more accurate warnings.
Relationships: Alm/Anthiese | Celica/Efi | Faye, Annette Fantine Dominic/Mercedes von Martritz, Arvis/Diadora | Deirdre, Chambray | Yarne/Lucina, Chrom/Sumia (Fire Emblem), Clarine/Nacien | Narcian, Dedue Molinaro/My Unit | Byleth, Edelgard von Hresvelg/Bernadetta von Varley, Eir/Triandra (Fire Emblem), Eirika/Valter (Fire Emblem), Eltshan | Eldigan/Grahnye, Felicia/Leon | Leo, Ferdinand von Aegir/Manuela Casagranda, Flannel | Keaton/My Unit | Kamui | Corrin, Geese/Larum, Guinivere/Milady | Melady (Fire Emblem), Heanius | Innes/L'Arachel, Henry/Nono | Nowi, Kyle/Lute (Fire Emblem), Lilina/Roy (Fire Emblem), Lute/Vanessa, Miriel/Olivia (Fire Emblem), My Unit | Kamui | Corrin/Silas, Petra Macneary/Claude von Riegan, Plumeria/Triandra (Fire Emblem), Sallya | Tharja/Riviera | Libra
Comments: 25
Kudos: 61





	1. Table of Contents

**Author's Note:**

> Kinktober has come early this year lol, I'm calling this endeavour Smutty September/Smutember

**Day 1:** Domesticity | **Garters** | Phone Sex/Sexting

  * **Game:** Sacred Stones
  * **Ship:** n/a | Innes-centric
  * **Word Count:** 1,118
  * **Tags:** Canon Compliant, Masturbation, Sock Fetish



**Day 2:** Against the Wall | **Overstimulation** | Pain Play

  * **Game:** Three Houses
  * **Ship:** Annette/Mercedes
  * **Word Count:** 1,056
  * **Tags:** Alternate Universe - Modern/Mundane, Spreader Bar, Handcuffs, Vibrators, Multiple Orgasms, Soft Domme, Mommy Kink 



**Day 3:** Deep Throat | Electro-play | **Foot Fetish**

  * **Game:** Fates
  * **Ship:** m!Corrin/f!Corrin
  * **Word Count:** 1,115
  * **Tags:** Canon Divergent, Selfcest, Foot Fetish, Footjob, Masturbation, Coming Together



**Day 4:** **Brat Taming** | Spanking | Tentacles

  * **Game:** Binding Blade
  * **Ship:** Clarine/Narcian
  * **Word Count:** 963
  * **Tags:** Canon Divergent, Dub-con, Dom/sub, Femdom, Brat Taming, Bootlicking, Riding Crops



**Day 5: Fangs** | Making Out | Sex Swing

  * **Game:** Awakening
  * **Ship:** Henry/Nowi
  * **Word Count:** 1,496
  * **Tags:** Oral Sex, Deep Throat, Biting, Blood Play, Bukkake



**Day 6:** Biting | Cross-dressing | **Thigh Sex**

  * **Game:** Fates
  * **Ship:** f!Corrin/Silas
  * **Word Count:** 1,242
  * **Tags:** Thigh Sex, Frottage, Making Out, Sthenolagnia, Minor Loyalty Kink



**Day 7:** Breeding Mount | Edge Play | **Graphoerotica**

  * **Game:** Three Houses
  * **Ship:** Ferdinand/Manuela
  * **Word Count:** 1,122
  * **Tags:** Oral Sex, Age Gap Relationship



**Day 8:** **Heat Cycle** | Mutual Masturbation | Orgasm Denial

  * **Game:** Awakening
  * **Ship:** Lucina/Yarne
  * **Word Count:** 1,033
  * **Tags:** Heat Cycle, Breeding Mount, Slight Coaching, celibate!Lucina



**Day 9:** **Aphrodisiacs** | Dom/Sub | Spit-Roasting

  * **Game:** Sacred Stones
  * **Ship:** Lute/Vanessa
  * **Word Count:** 1,189
  * **Tags:** Mutually Dubious Consent, Aphrodisiacs, Alcohol, Nipple Play



**Day 10:** Human Furniture | Size Difference | **Voyeurism**

  * **Game:** Binding Blade
  * **Ship:** Geese/Larum
  * **Word Count:** 1,395
  * **Tags:** Voyeurism, Masturbation, Minor Roy/Larum



**Day 11:** **Enthusiastic Consent** | Hypnosis | Soft Dom

  * **Game:** Sacred Stones
  * **Ship:** Eirika/Valter
  * **Word Count:** 1,334
  * **Tags:** Canon Divergent, Vanilla Sex, Mild Bondage, Kink Negotiation (Technically)



**Day 12:** **Figging** | Exhibitionism | Uniforms

  * **Game:** Three Houses
  * **Ship:** Claude/Petra
  * **Word Count:** 1,208
  * **Tags:** Out of Character, Figging, Anal Fingering, Object Insertion, No Lube, Dom/sub, Femdom



**Day 13:** Face Sitting | **Procreation** | Wax Play

  * **Game:** Genealogy of the Holy War
  * **Ship:** Eldigan/Grahyne 
  * **Word Count:** 1,346
  * **Tags:** Minor Eldigan/Lachesis, References to Incest, Arranged Marriage, Wedding Night Sex, Breeding Kink



**Day 14:** Sensory Deprivation | Sniffing | **Nurse**

  * **Game:** Fates
  * **Ship:** Felicia/Leo
  * **Word Count:** 1,640
  * **Tags:** Established Relationship, Breastfeeding, Lactation Kink, Nipple Play



**Day 15:** Food-play | **Omegaverse** | Masturbation

  * **Game:** Heroes
  * **Ship:** Plumeria/Triandra
  * **Word Count:** 1,661
  * **Tags:** Not Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Heat Cycles, Alpha Triandra, Omega Plumeria, Non-Human Genitalia, Tentaclits



**Day 16:** **Cuckolding** | Oral Sex | Somnophilia

  * **Game:** Shadows of Valentia
  * **Ship:** Alm/Celica/Faye
  * **Word Count:** 1,341
  * **Tags:** Established Polyamory, Voyeurism, Marathon Sex



**Day 17:** **Breast Worship** | Knotting | Shoes

  * **Game: Awakening**
  * **Ship:** Chrom/Sumia
  * **Word Count:** 1,459
  * **Tags:** Fluff, Out of Character, Titjob, Nipple Play, Blowjobs, Bukkake



**Day 18:** Praise Kink | **Plush** | Servant

  * **Game:** Three Houses
  * **Ship:** Bernadetta/Edelgard
  * **Word Count:** 1,186
  * **Tags:** Academy Phase, Masturbation, Plushophilia 



**Day 19:** **Body Decoration** | Fucking Machine | Sex in Water

  * **Game:** Awakening
  * **Ship:** Libra/Tharja
  * **Word Count:** 1,295
  * **Tags:** Lingerie (Technically), Oral Sex, Edging



**Day 20:** Begging | Frottage | **Ravishment**

  * **Game: Fates**
  * **Ship:** Corrin/Keaton
  * **Word Count:** 1,729
  * **Tags:** Interspecies Sex, Ravishment Kink, Consensual Non-Consent, Knotting, Excessive Cum, Slight Degradation Kink



**Day 21:** Bondage | Cream-pie | **Oviposition**

  * **Game:** Heroes
  * **Ship:** Líf/Fáfnir
  * **Word Count:** 1,055
  * **Tags:** Not Canon Compliant, Dub-con/Non-con, Erotic Horror, Interspecies Sex, Oviposition



**Day 22:** **Mommy Kink** | Sadomasochism | Vibrators

  * **Game:** Shadows of Valentia
  * **Ship:** Faye/Suitor
  * **Word Count:** 1,051
  * **Tags:** Canonical Marriage, Implied Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Frottage, Dirty Talk, Minor or Implied Breeding Kink, Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet Fluff



**Day 23:** Choking | Collar/Leash | **Double (or More) Penetration**

  * **Game:** Sacred Stones
  * **Ship:** Innes/L’Arachel
  * **Word Count:** 1,268
  * **Tags:** Blowjob, Deep Throat, Masturbation, Foreign Object Insertion



**Day 24:** Multiple Partners | Pet-play | **Scissoring**

  * **Game:** Binding Blade
  * **Ship:** Guinivere/Melady
  * **Word Count:** 1,572
  * **Tags:** Making Out, Nipple Play, Fingering, Scissoring, Tribbing



**Day 25:** **Lingerie** | Stuck in a Wall | Unusual Erogenous Zones

  * **Game:** Genealogy of the Holy War
  * **Ship:** Arvis/Deirdre
  * **Word Count:** 1,081
  * **Tags:** Lingerie, Corsets, Nipple Play, Clothed Sex, Incest (Implied)



**Day 26:** Bukkake | **Semi-Public/Public Masturbation** | Weapons Play

  * **Game:** Three Houses
  * **Ship:** Byleth/Dedue
  * **Word Count:** 1,423
  * **Tags:** Female Byleth, Academy Phase, Semi-Public Masturbation, Pining, Hot for Teacher



**Day 27:** Animal Traits | **Body Worship** | Dirty Talk

  * **Game:** Heroes
  * **Ship:** Eir/Triandra
  * **Word Count:** 1,299
  * **Tags:** Angst, References to Body Horror/Traumatic Injuries, Interspecies Sex, Wing Kink, Fingering, Minor or Implied Temperature Play



**Day 28:** **Degradation/Humiliation** | Sex Pollen | Roleplay

  * **Games:** Awakening
  * **Ship:** Miriel/Olivia
  * **Word Count:** 1,803
  * **Tags:** Dom/sub, Humiliation Kink, Control Kink, Bathroom Control, Piss Kink, Wetting, Crying, Implied/Referenced Bondage



**Day 29:** **Fem-Dom** | Monsters | Master/Mistress

  * **Game:** Binding Blade
  * **Ship:** Lilina/Roy
  * **Word Count:** 1,222
  * **Tags:** Soft Dom, Magic Kink, Negotiated Kink, Handjob, Minor Injuries 



**Day 30:** Aftercare |  **Panties** | Vanilla 

  * **Game:** Sacred Stones
  * **Ship:** Kyle/Lute
  * **Word Count:** 1,460
  * **Tags:** Established Relationship, Interrupted Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Coming Together




	2. Garters

Innes moaned as he went red in the face.

He closed his eyes, lifted his chin in bliss, and he sped up how he jerked off.

It had been far too long since he had let himself be anything but a prince. But there was perfection in knowing one’s self and accepting it all in carnality. He remembered being an adolescent, not all that long ago, really, and being disgusted with himself but he also couldn’t help himself.

There was something erotic which he couldn’t describe about socks and, more specifically, sock garters. He was sure why or how he had developed such a fixation but he had always felt it as a part of him and he would not reject himself for it, that would be ill fated, he thought. 

His sessions with himself as his lover always started the same way. The meditative pursuit of being well groomed; he wanted to present only by his best self. That was to be expected of him as a prince but there was something so contradictorily nasty to be well groomed for something so base and carnal.

He slipped into his favourite pair of socks. Woolen and white, never worn into battle or practice and ergo, still as soft as the day they had been made. He was careful to wash them, too, all to maintain that pristine image of them and then he would roll them up all the way to his calves. Then, he would attach the garters. The little clicks of the locks and buckles on them were so satisfying as he made sure that they were tight but not too tight they would cut off circulation nor so loose that the purpose of them would be defeated.

Then, he would relax. He would close his eyes and he would sit on his bed, legs apart, a towel underneath him, and he would fantasise. He would think about all the perfect socks out there. The sensation of wearing socks and the like. He fixated on it all as he stroked down his shaft, fingering the ridges of his corona, then drawing his hand back so he could jerk off, not just touch himself. 

Gosh, the softness of the most perfectly stitched together socks. It was unparalleled and combined with garters, it was simply sublime. As he had such thoughts, Innes flexed his toes inside the socks that he wore right now and he felt his heart pound hard and harder in his chest as he strained to breathe. It was so specific and so hideous that the shame of having such an amorous affliction turned him on a little bit more.

His breathing hitched as he pleasured himself and on the exhale, he could feel himself grow louder and more bold. He tried to keep his voice down but he was on the edge of being unable to help himself. 

Yet, all the same, as he began to enclose on his fever pitch - on his orgasm and all that would entail - he found himself unable to suffice. Something was wrong. He knew his limits and normally, this was it but he had yet to erupt with his lust. His usual fantasies of pretty legs, both male and female, wearing all sorts of wonderful hosiery and lingerie and socks and garters was not enough. But, in the midst of such frustrated fantasies, like wheels spinning, Innes did have an idea as he was a man of a thousand ideas and more.

Innes’ eyes fluttered open and he threw his gaze aside as his frustration continued to mount inside his chest. His gaze inched defiantly towards his bedside table where he kept all sorts of odds and ends. With his free hand, he wondered if he ought to muffle himself with it. Lips to his palms and his heart constricted. His gaze was somewhat blearily as he tried to straighten it; eyes caressing the knob of the bedside table and he knew exactly what sorts of odds and ends he kept in there.

With a huff, he made a split second decision. His free hand flung aside as he kept jerking off, his attention divided and made even the simple task of retrieving something from his drawer difficult but he did it. Of course he did it. Regardless, he pulled out the socks that he didn’t have the heart to throw away. 

Socks which had holes in them. Socks which had lost their pair. Socks which he had otherwise outgrown. He kept them all in his bedside drawer as keepsakes - but he also kept quills and inkwells, broken arrowheads with similar yearnings to his heart like his precious socks and the like in there too, it was his treasure trove of boyhood and other little things like that. Things he wanted to cull from his life but had otherwise found himself unable to.

His heart thudded as he escalated. He had never done such a thing as this before but he was excited by this sudden bloodrush of arousal. He plucked yet more of these socks from the drawer; let them lie on his knees save for his favourite two. He had rather special missions for these two socks mismatched and without true or clandestine purpose. One which was dark grey in colour, had holes at the toe, and he used it as a cocksleeve. But the other, which had long lost its mate and was a pale grey in colour with brown stripes at the ankle, Innes had another purpose for it in mind. 

Innes breathed hard as he jerked off. The wool of it had long since degraded, a shame, but the slight roughness to it excited him in ways he was not normally aroused by less than perfect socks. 

And, with the other sock, he used it to muffle himself. He clenched his eyes hard as he thrust his mouth and nose into it. The sensation of it enclosing his facial regions was wondrous, he thought. It was still of high thread quality and scented slightly like freshly clipped grass. How perfect. Moaning into the fabric and adoring how it felt on his hands, reverberating with lewd noise made discrete. 

Innes came and he barely realised as he enjoyed this new plane of paradise. His spirits soared as he enjoyed the feeling though. It had been a long, long time since he had enjoyed himself like this and this was immaculate he thought as he wearily put down his hand. Breathing steadily the air of his room and lazily finished up his masturbation, glancing down to his now soiled towel beneath him, eyes caressing all his socks he was bedecked with on the way down.


	3. Overstimulation

There was nothing that Mercedes wanted more than nothing but the best for her little Annie.

“Aw, what a good girl you are...” Mercedes whispered, sticky sweet, to Annette who was all done up as perfect as perfect could be with a spreader bar between her ankles, her wrists in cuffs and strung up from above, she looked a delightful mess with everything in place. 

Especially with that teeny-tiny vibrator, with its two suckers, attached to her teeny-tiny body. Suckers firmly secured to her perky little breasts, Annette was feeling everything twice-fold from those. The vibrator itself jumped and hopped, mid-air, suspended and connected to the tassels.

“How are you feeling?” Mercedes asked as she stroked Annette’s cheek before noticing a curl of orangey ginger hair out of place. No, that just wouldn’t do so she oh so lovingly pushed it back behind Annette’s ear.

Annette’s breathing was very heavily laboured. “I - I feel good, Mercie.” she murmured stiltedly, unable to keep her eyes open - or even her mouth.

“That’s what Mommy likes to hear.” Mercedes said and she pressed a sugar sweet kiss unto Annette’s cheek and in that dulcet distraction, Mercedes pressed another button on the little remote she kept in her other hand.

Annette blushed and she felt the voltage go up. “Mercie!” Annette squeaked and her squeak turned into an orgasm. All mangled and garbled in her sing-song voice.

Mercedes laughed. “You really seem to be enjoying yourself, sweetie.” 

“I am, Mercie. Y-You’re the best.” Annette stuttered out as she rode through her orgasm. The feeling was intense to say the least and had her sopping wet between the legs.

“Well, can I play with you some more or are you too tired, dear?” Mercedes asked.

Annette’s eyes opened wide. “More?!” she exclaimed.

“Yep, more.” Mercedes said and she bopped Annette on the nose playfully - as though tehy were discussing anything but kinky sex.

“Well, um, yes please… What do you, um, have in mind?” Annette asked, glancing at Mercedes.

Mercedes leaned in again and placed a hand between Annette’s legs. Fingers splayed over the remote which she idled with, trying to decide to go up another notch or if she should give Annette a moment of respite first. For now, she would simply hover between the ideas. She kissed Annette’s face once more with such lewd musings on her lips and inherent to the otherwise chaste kiss.

“Well,” she said, slowly, savouring the anticipation that Annette shivered with, “I’ve got a cute new bunny for you to play with.”

A rabbit vibrator…? Annette wondered to herself internally. “I absolutely want to meet this new bunny of yours.” Annette replied.

Her wonderings were confirmed in a moment when Mercedes produced the instrument in question with her other hand, hidden behind her back. She brandished it and Annette’s eyes glued themselves to its curves. The dual prongs, the shiny sheen of being brand new. Annette was very excited to meet this new bunny.

Mercedes used it lovingly on Annette. It connected to her clitoris and Annette yelped with the suckling vibrations from it; then yelped again when her body attempted to adjust from yet another source of pleasure in a new axis of her.

Mercedes watched her keenly, waiting for her to adjust and when Annette looked as though she was nearly on top of it, she made sure to start using the rest of the rabbit vibrator on her. The other prong began to work its way inside of Annette all too easily and Annette came almost embarrassingly quickly. Mercedes giggled to herself, adoring that she could do such things to Annette. Her hands jerked above her head in their restraints. Mercedes kissed her face and thumb still on the other notch with delicious, seeming indecision. 

“O-Oh, Mercie…” Annette murmured. 

She shivered as her body absorbed all these vibrations from so many different angles. Her breasts felt weary with that miniature vibrator still doing its best, hanging off her nipples. And now her pussy was being played with, too. It was all too much and her body was beginning to succumb to exhaustion despite it clearly keying up for yet another crescendo. Annette could feel the swell of bodily arousal beneath her skin; in the flow of her blood. It was inescapable and all topped up with that sweet, smiley observation she was under from Mercedes.

“Come on, Annie, call me by my title, please, if you do, I’ll give you a very big treat.” Mercedes coaxed her.

“It’s embarrassing…” Annette quibbled and she gave an instinctual buck of her hips.

“Please, for Mommy…?” Mercedes asked.

“Oh, okay, for you, Mercie…” Annette mumbled. “Mommy, please, I - I feel so good and full…” She started to beg. “I’m - I’m so tired but, like, in a good way, Mommy.”

“Oh, Annie, you are just so adorable, sweetie.” Mercedes said and she flicked the notch under her thumb.

Annette gave a yell. Her loudest one yet as the miniature vibrator between her breasts went up to its highest and most powerful setting. It was so small but it felt so good. Mercedes gave a simultaneous flick of her wrist as well and the rabbit vibrator inside of Annette obeyed. 

Annette came and this was easily the most powerful of the orgasms that Mercedes had elicited from her in this session of sex. Her legs felt gelatinous beneath her and there was a pleasant burn up her arms. She moaned and thrust as she rode out this orgasm. She could feel it in every inch of herself. She was seeing stars and stripes in it, oh gosh, she might have whited out there for a second as her body all but deflated on her in what was otherwise bliss and euphoria. 

Mercedes applauded her. “What a good girl, Annette, you always put on such a show for me.”

“Mercie…” Annette mumbled, trying to shrink in on herself, embarrassed and gorged on all the praise tha Mercedes had given her.

“Would you like me to stop now?” Mercedes asked as she took the vibrators down to their lowest settings. 

“Yes, please, Mommy…” Annette mumbled with a shaky but demure smile.

“Okay, sweetie, thank you for playing with me.” Mercedes said and she gave Annette one more peck on the lips before turning either of the vibrators off.


	4. Foot Fetish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope its clear which Corrin is speaking/moving/etc at what time but lmk if there's something really unreadable and ambiguous, I'll try and clear it up

“You don’t have to be shy, you know,” Corrin, the Fateful Princess, said as she nuzzled up to him, “we’re the same person, after all, we share the same memories, same desires…”

Corrin, the Fateful Prince, blushed. He had to look away from her. The resemblance was uncanny to say the least. He looked just like her. She looked just like him. The clay silver hair; the pointed ears; the mole under their right eyes. It was all identical, superficially, save for differences of gender.

“Yes, the same person except for one thing…” the Fateful Prince murmured as he adjusted his crotch.

“I don’t mind.” Corrin replied to him. Her voice was mellowly sweet. She kissed his face, both sides of it.

“It’s just…” Corrin said to her, stilted and awkward. “There’s something I want from you.”

“And there’s something I’ve always wanted to do.” the Fateful Princess replied, oh so demure.

Corrin, the Fateful Prince, blushed harder and allowed his female counterpart to keep doing as she was. If they were the same person, he wondered, why was she so much more headstrong? 

Corrin, the Fateful Princess, undid that which concealed her male counterpart’s loins. She giggled as she inspected his penis. It was harder than she expected. Perhaps middling in size, a good girth thought, she thought; not that she had much experience, being as virtuous and sheltered as she was but this, she thought, was what a gentleman’s weapon ought to be like.

“Do you like it?” Corrin asked.

“I do.” she replied. “It’s mine.”

“Don’t say such obfuscating things…” Corrin complained.

“May I?” the Fateful Princess asked.

The Fateful Prince swallowed a lump in his foot as Corrin tried to kiss him, get him to open up. All whilst idly skirting her fingers around the corona of his semi-erect prick.

“I know all about your dirty little secrets,” Corrin told him, “after all, they’re mine, too, please? You still seem reluctant, my dear.”

“Corrin-” the Fateful Prince’s voice hitched as Corrin let him be. He took a steadying breath and was finally able to meet his female counterpart’s eyes. “Fine.” he said. “I want it.”

Corrin flattened his crossed legs against the floor; more reminiscent of the lotus position now. Corrin, across from him, planted her hands behind her as she lifted her legs. 

The Fateful Prince blushed as he caught shiny glimpses of the armour at his female counterpart’s ankles. They were petite and dainty, especially compared to his own but they were more than just pretty. They were scandalous but not nearly as scandalous as the soles of her feet. He swallowed again, harder this time, as Corrin readied herself. 

She placed a foot either side of his shaft. She giggled as she performed for him. It was a strange but fun position, she thought. 

People had always scolded them for being a little bit eccentric. A bit too free wheeling and of a wild heart. Of requiring to feel the earth and stone, whatever their path may be, beneath their feet, but they always swore it was for good reason. To feel connected. To feel as one with nature and the like. It was part of their draconic blood but there was more to it than that. Something a little bit perverse, too, a feeling which was good in their hearts and good in their loins.

The Fateful Prince stifled a moan as the Fateful Princess continued to rub her feet on his penis. 

“Aw, please…?” Corrin asked of him, gently. Sweetly.

“It feels very good, princess.” he replied.

“I know,” she laughed, “I’m enjoying it too.” She paused and raised a hand, she wobbled slightly but she shifted partially; her dragon tail anchored her now, just as much as her armoured her claws but her lower body remained human. “May I?” she asked and she pointed to her crotch.

“G-Go ahead.” Corrin permitted her, looking away.

“Thank you.” she replied. 

Corrin masturbated as she got off her male counterpart as well. He kept stealing looks at her and it amused her. How adorably shy he was. It was cute. She fingered herself adamantly, with a human hand, beneath her clothes. Her breathing turned erratic but her multi-task was impressive, her male counterpart had to admit.

She looked beautiful from his angle opposite her. Their bodies entwined as they were as she rubbed him off. His heart pounded hard and he felt his cock throb. He stole another glance at her and he wondered how long that they had been at this. Quite honestly, they both felt fit to break. It hadn’t been anything big or crescendoing, just something small in stable instead.

“Are you going to…?” Corrin asked her male counterpart as she hiccupped. 

He nodded. “I am.” he said. “A-Are you?”

She nodded, too. 

Corrin’s brow furrowed as he breathed steadily. The confirmation felt good to him. Assuring. So he focused more on what he wanted from himself. From… herself? From Corrin and he finally allowed himself more than just a steal of her image. He focused on how smooth the soles of her feet were. Despite how adventurous she was, there wasn’t a single callous on either of them. They were soft and they felt so gentle on his shaft. And when he looked up at her, she looked as though she was enjoying herself wholly.

She was enjoying this just as much as him. She thought his shaft thick and found it admirable. Enjoying how it felt, in turn, on the soles of her feet. It was not entirely smooth but the veins felt strong to toy with using her toes.

Corrin took a shuddering breath and he felt red at the tip of his ears. He was close. And Corrin, his female counterpart, enjoyed him being at that brink immensely. She edged him further, alternating between rubbing using the soles of her feet and using the pitter-patter of her toes. She, herself, also, close using her fingers and her fantasy come to life.

They alternated. One breath here, one exhale there. But their synchronicity of exchange broke with a unifying orgasm shared between them both. Corrin’s cock erupted with a jet of semen as he panted. Moaned. The guttural scrapes of his dragonhood rearing their head. Meanwhile, Corrin’s pussy was so wet with her arousal and she felt her orgasm bodily; it rippled out from inside of her, making her all but sing with euphoria. 

They both smiled at each other from across their entangled bodies, “That was… amazing.” they both told each other in perfect beats. In unison. Their smiles enlarging as they regained their breaths in the wakes of their orgasm. 


	5. Brat Taming

“Lick my boot.” Clarine said and she put forth a slender leg.

Her boot was a thing of beauty. Of art. Well crafted and made from the shiniest leather. Soft but not well worn. They inched up her leg, up and up, slender and form fitting, making the short girl seem far taller than she was in actuality. She waited, petulant, riding crop in hand for her partner to respond.

“Disgusting, I shan’t.” Narcian spat. Face all screwed up, revolt glistened in his eyes.

“I was afraid you would say that.” Clarine sighed and she toyed with the riding crop. She let it tap against the palm of her hand, over and over, like a metronome. “But, that will be the goal of tonight’s session. To instill some more obedience in you. Remember, Narcian, dearest, you're  _ our _ prisoner and I am  _ your _ warden and if I say, lick my boots. You will do it with relish.”

“And I said,” Narcian continued, voice as sharp as the edge of blade, “I shall do no such disgusting thing.”

Clarine’s gaze hardened. “Wrong answer.”

She lifted a leg and Narcian flinched. He thought for sure this warden of his would kick him in the pretty face but fortunately for him, she did no such thing. But, she did rest the sole of her boot on his face. She was careful not to exert too much weight over him - not that there was much of her to begin with as she was a stick of a thing - and she was also careful not let immodesty slip. She had angled herself perfectly so that Narcian could not strain his eyes and look up her skirt as there wasn’t much of it either.

No, instead, most of his view was now glutted with the sole of her boot. It was brown and ridged minutely to appear smooth to the distant eye; not so much the close one. The sharp heel of which jutted against his chin and she put pressure on his forehead, making him tilt his head upwards. 

“Now tell me, prisoner, what is the correct answer?” Clarine asked.

“A hearty yes, I would believe.” Narcian sarcastically replied.

Clarine smiled a cute little smile on cute little cupid’s bow lips. “Yes, that is the correct answer.” Purposely misinterpreting his tone. “Now, will I get that?”

“Hm… Let me think about it…” Narcian amusedly replied. “No.”

“Narcian, dearest, you are testing my patience.” Clarine said.

She brandished that little riding crop of hers. She gave herself a fearsome swack of it against her thigh. The noise resounded and a pale rose of a bruise already began to bloom where the skin was bare.

Narcian flinched more from the noise than the sight of it. Because he could not see it with his vision obscured by Clarine’s boot, he imagined that it was more horrifying than it was. But when Clarine delicately moved the head of the crop to the side of his face, he gulped.

“Well, Narcian, dearest, have anything further to say for yourself?” Clarine asked.

Here, Narcian hesitated. His acidic desire to fight back against Clarine’s taming of him was innate but he knew when he was outdone and right now, he was literally beneath her heel. She leaned over her knee to leer at him. She would have been such a cute or beautiful girl were it not for such an unsavoury expression upon her pixie features.

“I will happily lick your boots, mistress warden.” he very hesitantly said.

Clarine revelled in such reluctance. She smiled with extreme and delighted cruelty.

“Thank you for your cooperation, dearest.” she said and she slowly removed her boot from Narcian’s face.

There was an echo of an imprint on it. Faint traces of pink to create the lines of her sole and the like. Narcian growled to himself with discomfort. He shifted his head right and then left, trying to work out a crick in it. He then rolled back his shoulders, trying to resist the stiffening in them as his wrists were pinned back in handcuffs as they were. 

Clarine cared not for Narcian’s preening and trailed the riding crop over his face. She bopped him on the nose gently. He disliked that immensely.

“Pay attention.” she said.

“...Yes, mistress warden.” Narcian murmured.

That cruel smile of hers continued to split across her face. “Now come on, don’t be shy.” she said. “Lick. My. Boot.”

Narcian swallowed and he wordlessly obeyed. His mouth dried as he forced himself to look at the toe of Clarine’s boot. He didn’t even have to glance up to know just how smugly expectant she was right now; he could feel such things drip and emanate off her as he bowed her head.

His knees burned from being kept in the bound position of his kneeling. He opened his mouth and felt his heart in his throat. Gluggy and unpleasant. He dragged his tongue against the toe of her boot. The taste of her boot was of fresh polish. It tasted bad and permeated the whole of his mouth as he licked it over.

“Yes, good.” Clarine praised him. “We’ll make a good little soldier of you yet, Narcian.” 

His stomach churned to hear that. He was not just some soldier. He was Wyvern General Narcian of Bern but he was long since stripped of that prestige and he was at the enemy army’s mercy now. He didn’t know if he ought to stop licking but he continued against his better pride.

Clarine giggled to herself, very much pleased with how she had further broken in this unruly plaything of hers. She continued to play with that riding crop of hers, pleased further that she did not have to use it beyond intimidation.


	6. Fangs

Nowi giggled as she undid the buckle on Henry’s belt from her bottom angle, on her knees, all cute and playful.

These were exactly her and Henry’s favourite type of games to play. A little bit naughty, a little bit raunchy, a little bit risky. Just looking into her eyes, all alight with wildfire desire, Henry felt himself a little bit turned on - and when her hand took what she wanted from him, it ignited all the more in him with dragonfire.

“Can I…?” Nowi asked as he prematurely jerked him off. Just to get him in the mood. The feeling of her claws on his shaft, her dainty little fingers curled around him as she had fun just fondling him; going for his testicles next as she waited.

“You absolutely can.” Henry laughed.

Nowi’s whole face split into a grin and in the lowlight catching mid-afternoon sunrays in the tent, she looked all the more wild. Henry’s eyes particularly noticing how the sunlight glinted on her face. Catching in the grooves of her dry, chapped lips and on the slender elegance of those draconic little fangs that she kept hidden for the most part behind chipper smiles.

“Yay.” Nowi replied.

Henry swallowed and he let Nowi do as she pleased with his dick. She angled it cutely up to her mouth and took a moment to be cautious. To play oh-so-coy and cute, licking over his corona with kitten licks before giving him a kiss there. The head of his dick slowly moved past her lips and he felt her velvety gums and her sharp teeth.

He made an odd noise. A cross between a giggle and a hiccup which amused them both. Nowi flicked her eyes back up to him as she had been rather fixated with the sight of pale shaft and pinkish head.

“Keep going…” Henry gently urged her.

Nowi adhered to such encouragement. She slowly pushed herself onwards as her hands began to search his body for an anchor. She toyed with the clothes pushed aside and she tried to find a hold of his hips but she ended up settling for the ends of his clothes instead. Wrapping and unwrapping her fingers through the soft masses of the fabric that he was draped with. Clawing at them playfully to elicit laughter and gasps from Henry’s lips but it wasn’t just what she did with her hands which sparked such things in his mouth. She did it all all whilst elegantly taking in every inch of Henry’s dick into her mouth.

Now, Henry was by no means a monster but he felt like one when Nowi sucked him off. 

She was a tenacious and tiny little thing. Henry took all advantage in revelling in that as he felt himself go down and down some more in her tight throat. He could see her neck bulge with unnatural entrance as she made herself take the whole of his half-erect length in her performance of fellatio upon him.

“Oh, good girl…” Henry cooed.

He patted the top of her head. Poking and prodding the curls which stuck up so strange upon her scalp and then rustling her up some more. Nowi laughed and smiled, all strange and strangulated noises with her mouth and throat so full, but Henry adored them nonetheless. After all, her eyes were so wide as she tried not to squint through the difficulty of taking Henry’s length. 

Gods, her nose was practically at his crotch now. Wisping through his pure white pubic hair. She looked so good and Henry moaned as he felt her tongue apply curled pressure to the utmost top part of his shaft which was inside of her. His hands, once loose and lazy, in the strands of hair tightened. He grabbed her hair and gave a thrust.

She squeaked and squawked as best as she could as he thrust into her mouth. She squirmed and struggled as she took every impact, and then some, against her mouth. Bile bit at the top of her throat but it was not throes of terror that she was experiencing, oh no, it was something far more ecstatic as she relished the challenge. She slapped and pounded on Henry’s hips, tugging at the loosened clothing that was paraded around his skinny, white legs.

Henry sighed as he calmed down from his sudden thrusts. Turning lazy and languid, enjoying pulling out. But Nowi wouldn’t let him release that quickly.

She bit down on his exit. Her fangs trailing in the wake of his release. The edges nipped into his shaft, raking through the skin of it as he pulled back. Slick trails of saliva in the rivulets, mixed with blood as Henry pulled out from Nowi.

Nowi glowed with pride on her knees, looking up with unmistakable demure innocence as she waited for Henry to say something. He had somewhat lost his breath there, it appeared, as he held his side and not just Nowi’s head.

“Did you like that?” Nowi asked as she kitten-licked Henry’s corona once more.

“Yes, that was very exciting.” Henry rambled, bouncy and energetic. “Keep going, please, please, please keep going?”

“Anything for you, dearest.” Nowi seductively replied.

She kissed his cockhead once more and then sank her teeth into the head. He wasn’t the most girthy or thick of things but there was still something good to be chewed on and Henry didn’t mind one bit of Nowi used teeth. 

She alternated between kissing him and gnawing on him. Salivating in each turn and she had him moaning as she played. Toyed with him. Picking apart the thin rivulets, peeling back more layers of skin and layering it upon like a bloodisome canyon. She enjoyed the taste, too. Metallic and irony. It was nice. Especially when Henry began to drip pre-cum too. That was a good taste as well.

Nowi let Henry’s cock idle in her mouth as she enjoyed herself. Touching him all over where she could from her downward position, all whilst working herself up to that penultimate moment from before as it felt far too strange again to have nothing so far down her mouth, even if the stain of bile remained faintly.

Once more, Nowi took every inch of Henry as she could. She felt so wet between the legs when she had him as deep as deep could go. The taste of blood swirled with pre-cum. She listened intently to how Henry made garbled noises of arousal and laughter. And it was beginning to get all too much for him, no matter what he did in the friction of Nowi’s fun.

She was stronger than she looked, expertly taking every thrust against her mouth which was beginning to have him tired. He could feel it in the rattle of his own bones and in the flutter of his heart. Henry cooed as he pet the top of Nowi’s head, nattering praise for her skill with her tongue and her teeth and her tiny hands, too.

“O-Oh, Nowi…” he murmured. “Pl-Please let me cum.” He was so very red in the face now with his lungs aching.

Nowi’s nose twitched. Henry glanced down at her and her face was so, so pretty when she was taking his dick in her mouth. Henry smiled shakily as he panted hard.

“L-Let me cum on your face.” Henry asked of her.

Nowi scrunched up her face and Henry thought she looked cute doing even that but she did reluctantly release him. She edged herself away from him, doing more work than before in the release. She could feel his cock throb in her throat and then her mouth and all the tastes melded together as her own little hearty began to beat very, very fast in anticipation.

“Oh, Nowi, Nowi...” Henry murmured madly as his hand snaked down.

He coiled his fingers around his shaft to structure himself through his very much of the brink orgasm and when Nowi finally released his cockhead from the hot, wet chamber of her mouth, he felt the rush of air. Sort of musty and kind of stale and very lukewarm but it was more than enough. The last little push that he needed in his ecstasy. 

He came on her face and she laughed through it. Impish and ill-charmed. Henry hazarded a look and his heart couldn’t take such a carnal and spectacular sight such as this.

Nowi beamed as she licked her chops and jowls. Her face was positively painted with his semen. She tried to clean herself like some smug cat which had gotten the cream with her tongue. She seemed twice as pleased as she waited for Henry to say something but he merely smiled. He thricely patted the top of her head.

“Good girl, Nowi, good girl…” he finally said to her delight.

She just kept smiling, proud and erotic, all cheeky and with fangs glinting through the mess of his cum.


	7. Thigh Sex

Corrin whimpered as she rutted up against Silas’s thigh.

She tilted her head back and let the noise rise up through her throat, until it dripped like nectar from her mouth, so satisfied as she humped Silas’s leg atop of him. He was embarrassed by how Corrin took him astride as she did, flexed his legs slightly and it riled her up all the more. 

Arousal flushed through her as she continued her back and forth rhythm, clenching her thighs, so slender and lean compared to his, against Silas’s thigh. Coming up as close to him as possible. Warm breaths exchanged at a feeble distance. Feeling his muscles ripple beneath her was sublime. His thigh was so thick and frotting up against his erect cock was like nothing else. And the pleasure was reciprocated, Silas felt his breath hitch beneath the sensation of Corrin’s bare, wet pussy grinding on his thigh. 

With one hand, Corrin held herself steady, gripping onto Silas’s mid-forcep. He was so muscular there, as well. It made her smile weakly as she found herself groping the way they interlocked beneath his tight, tan skin. She was helpless but to imagine Silas as he was during practice or even on the day to day with his own helpful self. Hefting large sacks of flour and rice, hurling lances and spears; it made her shiver. 

It flustered Corrin as she sighed. She bucked her hips against him. Silas smiled, equally small in his lips, as Corrin had her fun in the friction against her. His big hands on her hips with stability and adoration as she humped against him so cute.

Meanwhile, with her other hand, Corrin held Silas steady. Her fingers caressed along his thick shaft, following the natural bend of his prick. It felt naughty to just touch him with such ghostly trails. 

Silas shuddered at her touch and with a gasp in his breath, he begged for her: “M-More.” He all but mouthed the words.

Corrin lifted herself up, so enamoured with Silas’s body, and there was not a thing that she could deny him in their love. She still held his bicep to remain sturdy as she leaned in. Their noses slid against each other and they pecked each other’s lips curtly. Eyes closed and lashes fluttered; Silas groaned as Corrin’s grip on his upper arm tightened. Became all but clad in iron and claws as she kissed him.

His lips were firm, just like the rest of him. Corrin nuzzled against him as she kissed him, admiring the texture of his face; he was paradoxically baby faced, so smooth and without a prickle of shaved down hair on him yet whilst also having strong cheekbones and jowls. The seeming contradiction delighted her as Corrin admired both the softness and hardness of Silas’s face. Corrin kissed all but on his mouth before returning to his lips after testing him further. Silas was hesitant to kiss back for he was damnably sweet. Corrin didn’t mind, ever the more playful one between them so she grew bolder. Not only in how she held him or how she kissed him, but in how she jerked him off. 

Corrin continued to frot up against him, helping Silas to press his dick against her as she humped his thigh. Her movements were languid, muddled in her sweet kiss as she tried to consume all of his attention. She could feel his cock harden and twitch beneath her fingers to her delight. 

She slipped her tongue into his mouth and Silas pressed his own against her. He breathed a little more laboured now. 

Corrin jerked him off hard whilst still humping his leg. Silas squirmed beneath her, shifting slightly, and he still felt the slick of her arousal dripping off her. He kissed into her mouth and she sighed. He, meanwhile, suppressed a groan as she did all but magical things to his dick, to his thigh, to his mouth, to his everything. He felt worshipped by her.

She groped his bicep simultaneous to how she jerked him off. She thrust herself against him whilst pumping him, kissing him. Driving him wild with all the attention that she could give - and so skillfully at that. Silas just melted beneath her but he remained stalwart which she appreciated deeply. Anything to get a feel and a grope of his strong body.

Kissing him with eyes closed, Corrin couldn’t help but think about all the feats that Silas had pulled off - and in her name. The way he hacked and slashed through the battlefield, the way he brandished his weapons without fear, and how his gentleness assuaged such violence in the mundanity of their day to day routines. Corrin was enamoured. 

The way he protected her, in and out of the frays, did not go in vain, Corrin wouldn’t let it. For their cause. The loyalty that he exuded was divine, mixed with sweat, a strong, masculine smell of leather and iron and horses: the aroma of a true knight. 

Shocking her in fantasies, Silas began to grope Corrin. The feeling of his hands on her hips was heavy and as they snaked down her body, to explore the vast expanses of her princessly body, her thighs and even her bottom, elicited a gasp from Corrin the midst of smouldering kisses. Silas groped at her bottom, making her buck her hips stronger against her body and the frottage was enticingly frustrating.

Corrin murmured strangely as when she opened her eyes. Surprised by how Silas touched her, both lovingly and lewdly at the round of her ass. She was dizzied, just a little bit. The lights of the room, thought flickering and weak as candles often were, were just enough to dazzle her. She saw glowy spots in the corners of her eyes as her gaze meandered back unto Silas’s face.

His cheeks were red. He squinted slightly. And the kiss they shared began to break off and a mangled sigh, or maybe it was a moan, escaped his pert lips.

“Please, my love,” he murmured, as though uniquely agonised with pleasure, “let me come.”

Corrin could have squeaked but she did manage a meagre apology. She hadn’t realised how tightly her fingers had wrapped around Silas’s manhood and with each finger which uncoiled, the relief was immaculate. One by one, Corrin teased Silas until it was just her index finger and with a flourish, a mere kiss on his cheek abided by how she fingered a vein beneath his cockhead, just by the corner of his mouth, Silas came.

Corrin sighed as she pressed herself up against him. She was splashed with his ejaculation as she did so, groping his bicep and then his shoulder in smooth, massaging movements. Together, they panted and held onto one another. 

Corrin snuggled in closer, chest to chest, breast to breast, and she could feel Silas’s breath on her ears so close to him. Her head just jutted beneath his chin and she drew her left hand back. It meandered up his body until it found a nestled home in the thickness of his pecs, she toyed with his areola, encircling it with love-heart shapes and she whispered, “Do you want to put it inside me next…?”

Silas blushed beet red. His modesty was delightful and made Corrin laugh. But he kissed her ear, in the ragged of her more draconic features.

“Yes, please.” he replied, softly, shyly.


	8. Graphoerotica

Ferdinand blushed as he witnessed the etching on Manuela’s inner thigh for the first time in such carnal intimacies. 

“For your eyes only”, it read in cursive script.

Maneula laughed when she noticed such sudden modesty from her lover.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Embarrassed that this old songbird has a few scrapes and scuffs from past loves? Past lives?”

“I just did not realise you were the type to have such commitment, after all, tattoos, no matter how salacious, are forever.” Ferdinand pointed out as he inched in closer to her regardless.

“Yes, that is true.” Maneula sighed, she didn’t have to be reminded twice that she could be a bit… whimsical. Flaky? Afraid of commitment.

“But as it is currently in my time,” Ferdinand murmured, his voice dropping down various octaves to become seductive and husky, “I am quite honoured that my princess is all for me.”

Maneula laughed sarcastically and she batted Ferdinand atop his head. He pouted slightly.

“Such lines are better for the tall, dark, and handsome type, love.” she replied.

“I can try.” Ferdinand said and he had a sudden idea.

His eyes flicked aside, to the nearby bed stand. Manuela, unthinkingly, followed his gaze and he smiled like a feline.

“Perhaps…” Manuela mused. “There are lines more suited to the romantic archetype that you belong to.”

“Yes, perhaps…” Ferdinand agreed, equally airy.

With a huff and a sigh, Manuela offered herself. The idea budding between them unspoken as her fingertips grazed the glassy surface of the nearby inkwell on the bedside table. She took the quill as well and wriggled about, bunching up but Ferdinand remained undisturbed in how she prepared herself.

Manuela pricked her fingertip using the quill but was happy that she only bled black ink. It was dulled by having written many an overworked parchment in its time, how fortuitous. Yes, it would do fine, if she so pleased.

“Would you like to do the honours?” she asked.

Ferdinand looked up at her so pleadingly. “Nothing would please me more.” he replied.

Satisfied with such a reply, Manuela surrendered the quill to Ferdinand who crawled up so he could get a better position on his canvas - and what a fine canvas that Manuela was.

Aged to perfection but still youthful save for the crow’s feet at her eyes but Ferdinand found them charming. Her legs were slender and pale and he thought to himself, how best to decorate them.

“Do as you please, love,” Manuela said, “I know you will pick the most splendid words for this old bird.”

“Thank you, princess.” Ferdinand replied with a sigh in the cupid’s bow of his lips.

He readied himself and dabbed the quill in the little inkwell pot. He took a breath and tried to wreath his mind with inspiration, already, words did begin to flow in black, dripping and drying upon Maneula’s flesh. He began to make quotations on her inner thigh. No more would that one scroll of text be alone upon her skin. He was delicate and gentle, as best as he could knowing that the pricked end of the quill could be harsh, even if she had tested it, and he wrote out line after line from his favourite poems. From her favourite poems. And best of all, the poems they both loved and cherished.

Manuela did her best to be a still parchment and a perfect piece of canvas for Ferdinand. She hazarded looks over him as he laid, languid, between her legs and endeavoured to embody the sexuality of a bard or poet. She had been many men’s muse but Ferdinand… being Ferdinand’s muse was exquisite for he cared deeply for her, not just her beauty or other prowess.

“Excellent selections, my dear…” Manuela murmured as she watched Ferdinand make excellent work of her legs.

(He always was her favourite student for good reason. So studious; it was delectable.)

Ferdinand made an earnest expression beneath his waves of gorgeous, ginger hair. He could be oh-so-adorable without realising it and Manuela ate it up.

“I am flattered to hear that.” Ferdinand said and he licked his lips.

Maneula’s eyes stitched themselves to how his tongue moved along his elegant mouth.

“Why don’t you read me some of this prose, darling?” Manuela discretely asked of him.

“It would be my pleasure.” Ferdinand replied, words carried on a thin breath of enthusiasm and delight.

Manuela beamed to herself with a touch of pride hearing that so they both got comfortable again.

Her legs went over his shoulders as he put aside the quill. She was all lounged out along the bed, nestled in between countless pillows of varying widths and thicknesses, and he was content between it all. Head between his thighs and belly to the mattress. He put his hands on her thighs; fingers splayed over his work, smudging slightly and soiling them both. Neither minded, of course, they both knew that words that Ferdinand had selected were forever even if they were seemingly impermanent. 

Still, for the sake of not ingesting ink, Ferdinand concentrated his efforts to woo Maneula where the ink had long since dried over and healed. He kissed the tattoo - For your eyes only - and Maneula shivered. His lips were warmer than she was expecting and when he dragged his tongue along the script, she swooned. 

Enticed by her sweet music, Ferdinand embolden. He looked up with the most pitiful puppy dog eyes and how could Maneula deny him what they were both worked up to. Wordlessly, she permitted him what he wanted and he pulled back her underwear. A scandalous garment of silk which was more a costume than regular clothing. Nonetheless, it felt like heaven on his perpetually virginal fingers as he unearthed the treasure beneath it.

He ate her out most ardently. With amour and passion, Ferdinand did his best to bring the utmost pleasure to Manuela. Her taste was savoury and Ferdinand relished it. He tongued her clitoris and Manuela moaned. Her noises were musical. Operatic. And Ferdinand could never tire to hear such salacious notes; not when he, himself, was the conductor. He slowly worked her over with the utmost tenderness and care, he knew her sweet spots better than he knew his own, admittedly until he brought her to a crescendoing orgasm.

At her orgasm’s peak, Manuela found that words failed her but her wordlessness, base and primal, was the ovation that Ferdinand desired. He knew that there was no bardic tradition which would truly prove the dues that Manuela deserved. Not yet at least but he might find the words to pen someday himself, if only to smear as ink on her fine legs in foreplay of their love making.


	9. Heat Cycle

His hulking form turned Lucina on as she stared down the barrel of his snout. His eyes glowed, alight with lust, but there was a blur to them. In the throes and strains of heat, his rut had more than come this year, he was all animal. No personhood. Slobbering and with gnashing teeth; his eyes all glassy, like the surface of the very Beast Stone which otherwise controlled his transformations.

“You’re doing great, my love,” Lucina murmured to him, “keep going…” She urged him gently, half terrified to reach out and pet him as Yarne satiated himself against the breeding mount.

In heats and ruts previous, he had crushed the breeding mounts fit for the strongest horses and Pegasi to copulate with. He had done so with bestial ease. So this one he currently rutted at had been fortified thrice over. Although, despite the reinforcements incurred, this mount seemed to be on the verge of succumbing to Yarne’s powerful instinct to breed and breed again. All made to withstand the edge of his fuck.

The mount had no animal appearance. It was all steel and padding and then some. Just something to hump and hump and hump over and over with grand, incessant pounding. All because he found the idea of giving it features, of any sort, inappropriate, in the sense that he did not want to cheat on his celibate beloved and nor did he want to play with a toy which was a horse. It just felt unnatural, even to a beast as unnatural as he.

And so, instead, it was as bare as bare could be. As much as it could be for it to be safe for him to use and vigorously at that. A craning neck for him to nuzzle his own against; a gaping hole at its behind for him to fuck. A kinked back for him to grind against, should the whim suit him in what was an otherwise fervent desire to be as accurate and fertile as possible in his pursuit to satiate his archaic instincts. 

The steel creaked and squeaked as Yarne thrust into it. 

He growled and chattered. Strange noises in his rabbit mouth which dripped with drool down sharp teeth. He embraced the mount tighter and wound up biting its fake neck. 

Still, Lucina’s heart trembled before his awe-inspiring might. She licked her lips and she felt herself grow wet down there but alas. They were a mismatched couple, like that. The heart enjoyed funny twists like that; such as pairing the celibate woman who could not reproduce for risk of spreading unwanted and impossible heirs and the rabbit man who desired to repopulate an entire species.

But, on the interim, until Lucina knew in good faith that she would not pass on the Brand to her children, half Taguel or otherwise, she could not let her own body be the toy in which Yarne satiated his rut against for the sake of his intrepid goal.

Yet was a fearsome thing it was to watch. The gentle and timid Taguel transformed and transformed again. 

Lucina reached out and she grazed her fingers through the thick of fur on Yarne’s brow. He growled at her touch, bucking his nose against her forearm, nipping at her and she was quick to pull back. Her heart raced as fear tainted where some strains of arousal had been in her body. She swallowed.

“Naughty,” she said, “naughty. We don’t bite our girlfriends, Yarne.”

Yarne snarled and his back legs thumped against the ground. The noise reverberation and Yarne quickened his pace. Lucina’s stomach twisted in her gut and she had a feeling as to what was about to happen. Her skin prickled and Yarne lifted his head. He kept going at it, powering through and trying to go as hard in as he could until he made contented noises at a peak. A crescendo. His nose to the sky and he came.

Lucina waited. Watched. And Yarne simpered. Curled back in on himself, nose to his front paws and he nattered. His tail, behind him, quivered and his hindlegs weren’t doing that thing again, where he just thumped and thumped and thumped again, grinding his claws through the floor.

“Good boy… that’s right, Yarne,” Lucina murmured and despite how Yarne had spooked her earlier, she reached out, “get it all out of your system, love, I know you can do it. We’ll get through it. Together.”

She pet his brow again and he only snorted this time. He didn’t bare his fangs at her nor did he try to bite. He swallowed though and his tail kept quivering. He still had energy to burn and a rut to fuck through. Lucina pitied him, at least a little bit as she pet him.

But still, an idle curiosity plagued her as she watched Yarne recuperate from his bestial orgasm. Lucina wondered how full the breeding mount was; she was the one who had to pry him from it if it was too full, after all, so it could be cleaned out. Yet if she strained her ears, she didn’t think she could hear anything. The tell tale sound of liquid hitting metal or anything akin. 

“Keep going, Yarne,” she urged him, “if you want it, take it.”

Such words felt less than apt on her lips as Lucina would be lying if she said she had never considered the fear of being so close to Yarne in this dubious state of heat. But in his quiet, she was lulled, herself. Not just him. Lucina inched closer to him. She pressed a kiss into his forehead. His ears flicked about either side of his face and she scanned him for further movements. His tail had calmed down and she half smiled. The poor rabbit had gone and tuckered himself out, she could only hear his whistling snores now.

“Okay then, good night, sweet dreams…” Lucina murmured and it turned to a yawn. She was tired just watching him so she couldn’t fathom his exhaustion so she eased how she knelt before him, slumped and joined him in slumberland. Even if it was only for a little while.


	10. Aphrodisiacs

Vanessa was many things but she wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly the kind of off-kilter sort of lady that she was shacking up with and so, she knew exactly what that unexpected new layer to the aroma of the wine she was drinking. She smirked to herself and glanced at Lute across the table. Ever a poker face, that girl.

Aphrodisiacs. 

Specifically, if that musky sort of smell amid the fermented fruits could be trusted, aphrodisiacs borne of a thousand pegasus feathers. Of course. It was sweet in how perverse it was.

However, the truly fun part of the equation was to find out if Lute had poisoned her own wine or only her’s…

Vanessa didn’t mind. She did her best to take all in calm stride, after all. And so, with a peculiar serenity in her demeanour, she took a sip of her own wine and she waited for the opportunity to switch their drinks. Closing her eyes, to savour the taste, how it already threatened to unwind her far too far, Vanessa just knew that Lute’s mask would drop and she would be oh-so-smug for the millisecond and when Vanessa opened her eyes. She was still as stoic as ever.

Right up until Vanessa got her opportunity. Ever fastidious and full of quirks and rituals, after eating even so much as one bite of her entree, Lute had to wash her hands ever afterwards. That gave Vanessa the exact opportunity that she needed to switch the glasses. Thank goodness that they were similar, not only in the glossy sheen of glass but exactly where the meniscus was. 

When Lute got back, it was like nothing had ever happened. Vanessa smiled sweetly and Lute took another drink of the wine in front of her.

“Tasty… Aged ten years, I think. Or, maybe, nine and three-hundred-and-sixty-four days.” she commented.

Vanessa snickered, hiding it in her hand.

Lute blinked. “What?”

“It’s nothing.” Vanessa replied, thinking about how it was so Lute to have said such a thing and that she loved her very much for it. Even when she was going around spiking drinks, apparently.

The rest of the dinner was without mindgames. Well, without any mind games of personal risk to either health or safety. This was Lute, after all, and she cherished a challenge in the form of brain teasers and Vanessa enjoyed a challenge too. So, in their own way, the conversation was light and lively, to complement their meals of dark poultry and vegetables. It was truly delicious, they both thought. It was nice to be pampered once in a while by going out to taverns and the like.

Going upstairs was a different story. Whilst neither intended to get drunk tonight, they had still hired quarters above the tavern so that they could enjoy some time away from home further but the effects of whatever Lute had brought along with her to tonight’s date were beginning to rear their appearance.

They were giggling, stumbling up the stairs with a wet feeling between their legs and hearts racing. The management of the tavern not so much as batted an eye at them as they made their way up the stairs in utter disaster. It took what felt like twenty goes to get the key in the lock and then another twenty to even get it to unlock but somehow. Before either of them knew it, they were in the bed together. Coarse cotton sheets beneath them and pillows stuffed with horsehair.

Lute had already taken off her dress. It completely slipped off her body like the excess plumage of a bird. All silky and ephemeral and opaque, complementing her in indigos and violets, unveiling the more substantial brassiere underneath. She only ever wore it when she decided she needed the extra support so basically at Vanessa’s insistence. She thought herself as too small in size to bother, unlike other, more endowed women. Lute could endlessly frustrate Vanessa but things like that felt quite lost on them tonight with the aphrodisiac in them.

Vanessa blushed every time when she saw Lute’s breasts. She was a bit close minded that way but she thought it special in the contrary. Lute beckoned her closer and Vanessa complied. Her finger was shaky, her eyes unfocused, but she was so fucking smug in her fugue state regardless.

“I spiked our drinks.” she laughed in a whispered voice.

“I know- wait, our drinks? I thought only mine was.” Vanessa said.

Lute laughed heartily. “I knew I made t tree right decision picking you as my life mate and partner.”

“Lute!” Vanessa scolded her.

“Yes, yes, both our drinks were spiked with aphrodisiacs.” Lute said, head lolling back before she dissolved into yet more laughter.

Vanessa gritted her teeth through the flowery effects of the aphrodisiacs. For some reason, she wasn’t even surprised. She swallowed a lump and anger welled up inside of her. Right beside a wet feeling of arousal. How distracting and disgusting.

“I didn’t even deceive you, did I?” she asked.

“Nope!” Lute cheerfully yelled. “I am a genius! A prodigy! You can’t deceive me. I notice everything. The slightest change in fragrance, the way the meniscus wobbles against the glass: I have the keenest eyes!”

Vanessa groaned but she was oddly charmed by such boasts.

“What sort of researcher would I be if I didn’t participate myself? Hair of the dog for me and horse feathers for you. Or well, that was the plan before you went and changed the schedule for me. Good work, by the way, this is a fun development.” Lute said and she looked weirdly dizzied, writhing around in the bed, enraptured by her pride. Her eyes spun. “Woo, the, the uh, aphrodisiacs are really hitting.”

Vanessa’s stomach did flips inside of her. She felt as though she ought to be insulted but instead, Lute’s antics just made her want to kiss her instead. So, she did.

Lute laughed as Vanessa laid siege to her body with endless kisses. She left no inch of Lute’s body unspared from her lips. Lute, of course, had no complaints. Adoring to feel adored. Vanessa’s lips were heaven sent in her skin; a velveteen sensation which left her wanting more with every trace. 

Vanessa groped Lute, too. Yes, her breasts were small and her hips were blunt and her overall frame was wire thin but she was perfect, nonetheless. Lute had small breasts but they were adorned with the cutest, pinkest nipples; Vanessa spared no effort in kissing them. Sucking them and flicking her tongue over the pert bud of her areolas.

The heat of their lovemaking intensified by the aphrodisiacs in them. The feeling of the aphrodisiacs festered in their veins. Making everything so much brighter and stranger and funnier. Leaving a taste in their mouths unnatural to the meals they had eaten previous. It was maddening, they both found in this happily dubious state akin to drunkenness but had them so, so horny instead.

Lute usually ran so cool but right now, she burned hot enough to singe Vanessa’s hands and mouth as she ravished the girl.


	11. Voyeurism

Larum got in trouble a lot. Most of the time, she gracelessly barged into it because her head was too far up in the clouds to know better. However, once in a while, when the fancy struck, she knew her propensity for getting into trouble would help, guiding her to realise when she was exactly in the sort of situation which would get her into trouble. Like this one, for instance. Like, when her ears pricked like a cat’s when she heard something coming from Geese’s tent and she couldn’t help but to follow the noises that she heard.

A stuffed groan. A stifled moan. And a whinge which came up from the bottom of his throat. There were weird shadows on the canvas, too. The setting sun unkind to whatever it was that he was doing in there. Exaggerating jerky movements from hand to crotch, up and down and Larum realized exactly what was happening in there. She got like that too, sometimes, all bored and pent up and horny.

Coming closer with light, nigh invisible steps, she wondered if Geese had company in there. For some reason, she felt an unlikeable twinge of an emotion in her chest having even the faintest perusal on that topic but judging from how small the tent was and how lonesome his shadow was by his solid body, Larum suspected that there was no one but Geese in there. Still, she settled as close as she could beside it, without alerting him. Not letting anything so much as a twig snap on her watch. 

“Come on you bloody bastard…” Geese hissed to himself. His breath sounded jagged between gritted teeth. All hot and bothered and frustrated.

How salacious! Larum thought to herself, blushing on Geese’s behalf as she could scarcely imagine his tan face, all bloomed in red because of the suggestion of sex. But she supposed such talk was befitting you a pirate. They were supposed to have awful mouths, after all - and Larum did contemplate Geese’s mouth quite a bit. He had a handsome one, after all. Ruddy lips, even if they were chapped; shadowed by stubble and cuts from shaving. And his voice… At the best of times it was like a brusque honey, kind of gruff but he had a rather intellectual vocabulary for a man of the sea; the right balance between vulgar and high brow, all served in a voice of baritone. It was a shame he couldn’t sing and Larum had heard him try; it haunted her nightmares.

Still, she had to suppress a sigh as she listened to that voice transform into something yet more deep and intense as he, gasp, masturbated.

Larum felt her guts twist with perversion. She knew that she would get into more trouble than she had ever been if she didn’t tarry along but how could she? Not when the show was getting so good with Geese urging himself along as he was.

He sounded like he was going at it pretty hard. The way he was so swift in his pleasure, firmly grasped and jerked off. Larum could only imagine what he was doing in there. She was willing to bet that it was good. That he was dripping with sex and sweat on his stern,handsome brow; a fine musk emanating off him. All whilst he jerked himself off, knowing all the secrets of his body. 

Oh, and Larum was also willing to bet that he was in possession of a fine weapon between the legs. She tried to stop herself from imagining further but Larum was unable to. It all kept tumbling further through her mind like a snowball down a mountain.

Now, admittedly, Larum was a bit sheltered but she still knew about all of that. About the birds and the bees and penises and vaginas. And she was absolutely certain that Geese would have an amazing penis. Just look at him! All big and tall and handsome. He just had to; especially with a nose like that and feet like those. It all correlated, supposedly. So, Larum was certain as she let herself go dare imagine what Geese’s cock would like.

Undoubtedly, it was going to be big and girthy. Maybe even as long in length as her forearm, Larum could squeal as her mind kept adding detail after detail towards how she envisioned Geese’s cock. She imagined him as veiny, too. He was probably… uncircumcised and probably had a reddish head to it. He probably manscaped, too. Larum giggled but it was true. Geese was really vain so it was entirely possible that he kept his downstairs hair just as nice as the hair as his head but the colours mightn’t match. His pubic hair might be darker and Larum salivated as she wondered about all these naughty, naughty things.

Larum swallowed.

Geese made a really, really loud noise and Larum could have jumped out of her skin but, for now, ignorance was bliss. He had no idea that she was out here. So close. Being a voyeur.

Larum felt herself grow wet between the legs. She had played around with herself before as curiosity was healthy, even if it embarrassed her father but never had she ever had such a visceral reaction to stimulus before. Her mind was running wild with ideas about Geese and that sturdy, handsome body of his. She licked her lips and shifted how she sat. She thought, maybe, she ought to resist temptations. That she should move on but oooh, she just wasn’t that sort of girl. So, she shifted how she sat again and she got her hand underneath her sash around her waist and then further down. Her wrist embraced close by the hem of her genie trousers and then she slipped her fingers past her panties.

Larum whimpered as she fingered herself. She strained her ears for more aural input to feast on. Gosh, Geese may not be able to sing but every moan and groan out that suave mouth of his was golden, she thought.

She couldn’t help herself. Her mind was ribboning and spiralling and she found herself imagining being in that tent. Giving Geese the (lap) dance of a lifetime. She imagined going down on him, she imagined easing herself onto him; she imagined them in all sorts of places and positions. It was thrilling, exhilarating, and Larum could swear that her fantasies were getting so real that she could feel him inside of her. All the way down the hilt. His cock buried so deep until he grazed her womb. 

But what of poor Roy? Larum asked herself that in the crux of her pleasure, momentarily distancing herself from everything happening inside of herself, even as she continued to masturbate to Geese masturbating.

After all, she had a crush on Roy and she knew it to be true but she just couldn’t keep him and his red hair consistent in her head. It kept on dyeing back to violet. It was Geese whom she could imagine herself impaled upon his carnal weapon, not Roy and she did feel sullied for this revelation.

Still thinking of Geese, and only Geese and how she could hear him so close by, Larum shuddered was she fingered herself harder. She grunted to herself as she imagined him coming inside of her. With such fantasy, a deluge, she came outside of her head as she imagined such a flood of semen inside of her. 

Her orgasm became a song on the top of her lungs. It pulled out the pleasure she felt from the deepest and most base depths of Larum’s soul. Turned it to a sweet melody and she painted in the wake. Satisfied and feeling the sun in the back of her neck. She took a moment of silence, in awe of how good she felt.

Right up and to the moment that she heard rustling noises. The tent Geese was in opened with a lazy rip as the zipper was pulled down in all but slow motion. And like any good street performer, Larum was gone with the wind at the slightest hint of getting caught and Geese, fortunately, none the wiser, limp cock between his legs, a bit of come smeared on him, as he searched high and low for his horny little songbird, mostly confused.


	12. Enthusiastic Consent

“Have you forgotten? We met once at Castle Renais. No? Look closely, Eirika. Do you not remember the face of he who will master you?” Valter snarled, cruel and vicious delight aflame in his otherwise cold, cold eyes.

Eirika swallowed, sputtered, afraid.

What a fool she was, Eirika chastised herself, if this was how he was going to treat her, then she would have paid more attention to him when their paths had first - supposedly - crossed in Castle Renais.

Yes, yes, yes, she wanted to beg. Take her, tame her, ravish her: she wanted to fuck, not to make love. She did not want a sweet and flowery sex, she wanted something which would get her heart racing and her loins yearning and if this was going to be the man who so boldly promised her everything and more that she denied herself, and was denied by the men around her, then so be it.

With no loyalty of his own, to neither country or king, Valter happily threw away what Grado had to offer and he pledged himself, precariously, to Renais. Or, at the very least, the Crown Princess who salivated for him and him alone.

That night, Eirika was all too eager to have him. To be alone with him despite the warnings from her friends and other kin. She heeded them not and Valter could not be more delighted by her headlong determination to bind herself, body and soul, to him. For her, he was relish to prepare chains and whips, blades and other instruments of torture made sexual, anything which he thought would be of use in carnal thrills.

“I intend to make more than a meal of you, you shall be a grandiose feast for I and I alone.” Valter whispered in Eirika’s ear.

She swallowed. A lone tingle of excitement went down her spine. “Please.” she replied, her voice equally as quiet as his. 

He glanced at her. Briefly meeting her eyes and Valter was taken aback by how starstruck she was. She was on the edge of her place on the bed - her bed, atop a plush and velveteen doona, beneath four posters all dripping with silk from the oaken branches - and she was hanging onto every word of his as though it were the devil’s gospel. Valter had never felt so adored before and quite frankly, it unnerved him. He knew himself unworthy to be beholden to such beautiful, blue eyes. A cyan all for him and him alone. It tugged at heartstrings that he didn’t know that he was still in possession of.

“Please,” Eirika begged him, a hand reaching out and touching his breast, unarmoured, “please, do your worst to me.”

For good luck, she kissed him. Her lips were a warm, soft bloom atop his mouth. Awkwardly, nigh hesitantly, Valter kissed back. She stroked and rubbed his chest as she kissed him. He felt contented by her touches which had more than just a mere, budding warmth to them. 

Her love, and it was love, mesmerised him.

Falling unto one another happened naturally. A logical conclusion to the push and pull that they felt towards one another as they kissed. But it was not Eirika whose back fell against the doona of her bed. It was Valter’s. 

He was all sprawled out beneath her. Legs spotting against one another. Her hands on his wrists and he was gently pinned to the bed. Vulnerable but a little bit willingly as he looked up at her. Her hair haloing her pretty, cherubic face.

“Is something the matter?” Eirika asked. A little breathy, a little surprised but not concerned in a bad way.

Valter’s mouth dried whilst his eyes wettened. “This isn’t how I imagined tonight.” He told her. “I thought there would be more screaming and crying.”

“There can be.” Eirika replied. “I want there to be.”

“And I want you to yell for me to never stop.” Valter added, turned on despite the mysterious tears at the edge of his eyes.

“I won’t until I’m blue in the face.” Eirika promised him. Her voice was husky and she kissed this promise - hard - on his mouth.

Encouraged by this hardening kiss, Valter took heart and rabble roused. He pulled Eirika onto the bed and she squealed in delight. He had been shocked at first but now, he had found his stride once more. He hadn’t expected that the Crown Princess would be so promising. So malleable. What a perfect little morsel she would make, so long as he was careful not to let his guard slip or else, it might be him tamed by her. Although, admittedly, he could already feel himself bent around her little pinkie finger.

Valter thrust himself beneath her legs and leered over her. Eirika was thrilled by such grotesque expressions on his face. He grabbed her wrists and yanked her arms upwards; she was like a doll and with too much force, her arms would have come out of the sockets but she had complete trust that Valter would not use such excessive force but he nearly did. He grabbed means to make bondage of her. Stringing her up and tieing her to the bed board.

Valter smiled a snarling smile to himself. He ripped open the bodice of Eirika’s sleepwear blouse. Her breasts came tumbling out with shock, so did wishwashy protest as she relished the way he treated her, both poorly and in the highest esteem.

“Legs apart, my dear.” Valter commanded of her.

Eirika nodded, wordlessly and excited. She shifted slightly and Valter slotted in ever closer to her. Grinding himself up against her and she panted. He continued to lower himself to her. Feeling her skin on his body; he put his face between her breasts and groped her, too. Her bosom was warm and she was scented pleasantly, like milk and honey. What a treat and darling she was.

Eirika moaned as Valter lapped at her breasts. He thought them more than a little big, soft too. Like heaven. Tonguing over her nipples and he did not shy away from using teeth. She squirmed at such fanged and swirling kisses on her flesh as he tore at her night shirt some more. Reefing it off her body and then he went downwards. Prodding and poking along her body, feeling her hips and waist. An idle princess, she was surprisingly plump around the waist but that was a good omen, Valter thought.

“One day, when the time is right, you will bear my heir, understood?” Valter told her.

“Understood.” Eirika replied. 

His words were wet and breathy on her body as he resumed kissing her. His mouth trailing upwards; lavishing her elegant neck and shoulders as though he were a vampire. And with her lower quarters revealed, her long night skirt torn away, Valter entered her whilst kissing her.

Eirika moaned. She had only been given a glance over his body and it was strangely arcane, she thought. Sallow stretches of skin, a colour like spoilt milk, mostly scarred through natural means of weapons but some of it borne of magic, looking like fractals of ice laced over his body. As for his penis, that was what Eirika had seen the least of him but she could feel it inside of her. Modestly lengthed but commendably girthy, she thought as she felt it inside of her. His thrust was coarse and rough, their pelvises against each other with friction but she melted into it all the same. Valter was pleased immensely by how pliant she was. Her royal depths made for the most excellent cocksleeve, he thought.

“Oh, Eirika, my dear,” Valter prattled as he pounded her over, “you are mine now, forever and always.”

Yet those words did not shackle Eirika, nor horrify her. No, she was extremely elated by them and in that elation, Valter’s ecstasy followed as Eirika was so mild and gentle to enter over and over with increasing ferity of technique.


	13. Figging

“I will be punishing you now.” Petra said, all wide-eyed and cheery as she usually was. 

She also said it with a blithe neutrality which caused Claude’s brow to quirk, what a wonderful experience of cultural exchange this will be. He took a breath and he smiled.

“Looking forward to it, princess.” Claude replied.

She brandished her little weapon. “This is the punishing that we are using for the liars. You are a liar, Claude.”

“Yes, yes, I know, but not outright stating something isn’t the same as a-” Claude tried to handwave his not exactly forthcoming personality to Petra but found it difficult as her eyes were shiningly earnest, he sight, “actually, forget about it. Let the punishing begin.”

“Thieves are having their hands cut off, in Brigid, liars are having their tongues cut off-”

“Oh, cripes, I feel like I’m getting the slap on the wrist.” Claude interrupted her.

Petra laughed. “That you are having. An unusual Fodland expression, yes?” she asked. “Or is it being of Almyra?”

“Fodland.” Claude told her.

“I was thinking so.” Petra said. “But yes, we are having degrees of punishment. We are using this one for people who engage in un-noble trickery.”

“...Subterfuge? Espionage?” Claude guessed.

“Oh, we are learning so much together, Claude.” Petra enthusiastically replied. 

“Okay, gotcha, so we use this here little thing for nobles who lie for gain and put the governance at risk.” Claude said and he pointed at the carved fig that Petra was holding onto with much delight.

“Yes. For when we are wanting the truth but the truth is not easily coming out of a bleeding mouth.” Petra said.

“Okay then, do your worst on this un-noble trickerer.” Claude said.

He took another breath and he went into the position that Petra had asked him to go into when he was finally ready for his so-called punishment. He wasn’t sure if this was official position for this form of torture but it was one that he readily welcomed. He lifted his ass up to Petra and put his face between his hands; holding onto the pillows that Petra had so kindly provided.

“I am promising to be gentle.” Petra assured him.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m a tough one.” Claude told her - but he had to admit, he was a little worried but this was exactly the sort of thing that he had signed up for.

Petra then, quite unceremoniously at that, stuck her fingers in Claude’s hole. He squeaked, more out of surprise as Petra worked him over vigorously. She began with two fingers, which he hadn’t expected, and she was completely happy to go deep. Not a twitch of hesitation was to be felt but her fingers did feel nice. They were long and slender; with well tended to nails. They glided forth inside of him smoothly. 

Claude moaned as he felt Petra graze his prostate. He felt great sparks from that. She giggled to herself hearing Claude so lewd. Again, without that hesitation, so integral to Petra’s demeanour, she slipped a third one in: her index, her middle, and ring finger were now all inside of him. She flexed her fingers as she rubbed up against his insides, totally unafraid of the sensations. All to elicit the very best from Claude as he melted at her tongue. His moaning at her treatment was nigh melodic.

“Y-You’re doing really well, Petra.” Claude praised her.

“You are doing well with extremence, as well.” Petra returned the sentiment. “I will now be putting in the fig, if you are liking?”

“I am very much liking that, princess.” Claude replied.

Petra finished up fingering him as she was satisfied with how she had loosened him up. She drew back from him and Claude already missed the feeling of having her inside of him. He could feel himself gape slightly now that her fingers had retreated, as well. He licked his lips and he did not have to wait very long for Petra to line up the fig to his entrance.

She was careful as she angled the fig. It had been carved and smoothed down until it was soft to the touch. It exuded the slightest drip of its juices, not enough for lubrication though but Claude claimed to mind not. Though, he did mind that Petra had pared it down for him and him alone. It was something of an honour, he thought. It was almost flattering to have an instrument of torture created for him and by his dear Princess Petra, no less.

Petra waas suitably pleased to herself as his body began to accept the foreign penetration of it. She eased it inside of him and Claude twitched. Petra could see his shoulders shudder from behind him, how he shifted his feet beside her and how his toes curled.

“Ooh, you are liking this very, very much!” she said.

“I am, princess, it’s very good.” Claude told her.

Petra caressed Claude’s bottom as he waited for the burning sensation to arise. He had a rather firm ass, she thought as she waited too. Eager to see him squirm and writhe for her. Minutes passed and Claude’s initial bravado began to wane. He had been strong, at first, full of boasts and bragging; claiming that this was an inefficient way to punish ignoble people who aimed to deceive and undermine. It was child’s play; Petra had merely laughed and now she had good reason to.

Claude began to burn. The sensation inched up his anus with low tides, tolerable and unnoticeable, until it was anything but. His fingers curled in against his palm, clenched, as he tried to withstand the heat. It spread so mutably at first and suddenly, he understood why many were unable to keep secrets with this sort of intensity inside of them but Claude was of stronger will power than most, quite fortunately for him.

“Are you liking this now still?” Petra asked, chipper and innocent.

“Yes, princess, I am liking this now still.” Claude replied through haphazard breaths.

“That is good.” Petra asked. “May I be touching your penis then?”

“Go ahead…” Claude replied.

Petra shifted how she sat, to the side, and reached beneath him. Her fingers danced along the length of his flaccid penis.

“I was thinking so, too.” Petra said. “But I am promising that I will make you feel very good.”

“I believe it, princess.” Claude quickly replied on a gusty breath.

Petra began to jerk him off with one hand. She had a firm technique which freed at least part of Claude’s mind from the pain up his ass from the fig. He panted as Petra tugged on him with lithe fingers curled around him, perhaps tighter than she needed to be. It seemed that she enjoyed seeing him at least a little bit of pain. Hence, why she couldn’t resist, with her free hand, totally unaccounted for by Claude’s observations as he let himself be so roughly milked by her right hand, reached for the fig.

She gave it a twist inside of him and Claude screamed out to much of her relish. It only made her grin widen as Claude was struck with a fresh burning sensation inside of him.


	14. Procreation

For the good of his lands, Eldigan had to put aside his personal feelings and consummate his marriage to his wife.

Legs intertwined, he pinned her to the mattress and she laughed. Laughed like the tolling of the bells which had been rung at their church wedding. It was a nice sound, a touch brassy but full of joy and mirth. She looked beautiful, too, in the garb of her wedding dress undone as Eldigan helped her out of it. The silk and tule coming undone and undone as he gently grabbed at her, avoiding her breasts or otherwise groping her. 

She thought that he was being a gentleman. He knew himself to be anything but as he was consumed by a lust for a woman who was not her.

Grahnye would have made a man - any man - so happy but she couldn’t make Eldigan happy.

Not even as he kissed her neck and shoulders. She smelt of gardenias and Eldigan preferred the smell of roses, he thought. He lapped at her clavicle and felt her pulse throb nearby. She was warm, blissfully warm. 

“I love you.” she said and she reached up, she laced her hands along Eldigan’s sharp, broad shoulders.

“I love you, too.” Eldigan replied. Stilted with hesitation, spoken without remorse and with much rehearsal. 

Grahnye smiled and she embraced Eldigan, bringing her down, chest to chest. She kissed him on the lips and she smothered him with her mouth. He found it difficult to kiss back. Grahnye didn’t mind, ignorant to how mechanical Eldigan was to her, thinking it was merely nerves. The loss of virginity and the first time of sex was intimidating, so she found herself taking the more servile role by aiding and abiding him through it.

Eldigan closed his eyes to her. He found it easier this way and he groaned, awkwardly, as he pushed his pelvis against Grahnye’s. She was flustered by it, he could feel her degrees spike up a bit and he was oddly flattered. He tried to touch her some more. Caressing her cheeks, clasping his hands either side of her cute, homely face. But all there was to his senses was a sense of wrongness.

Gardenias, not roses. Someone womanly, not youthful or girlish. Someone with filled out hips and full breasts and had average legs and plump upper arms. Someone whom he had only met within the fortnight; not so many fateful years ago. Someone who was not the love and light of his life but rather a mere replacement for her because the taboo was so strong. He had requested a woman nothing like the one he yearned and he felt regret for that. Perhaps then… perhaps then he could make better love to that woman if her imitation was more akin to the one that he truly loved. 

Feeling unwell, stewed with all these thoughts as Eligan could no longer kiss her. He could no longer take fantasy to the reality mired in him, with wedding dresses and diamonds, Eldigan opened his eyes and the wrongness of it all continued to dazzle him, like staring into the sun with hurt. Her hair was a pale brown with russet undertones; her eyes were umber. 

His lips quirked with pity for himself and pity for his wife. Grahnye paused as she kissed the side of his face. She withdrew and wriggled up until Eldigan was on his knees and she was sitting up.

“Is something the matter, my liege?” Grahnye asked.

And just like saying I love you, Eldigan had another lie prepared: “I am bogging myself down with fears and expectations, what if I cannot be a good father to my own children?”

“Oh, Eldigan, my lord, you will be an excellent father.” Grahnye assured him as she pet his face, staring up into his eyes with gentleness. “I see how you look after your sister,” Eldigan’s heart twinged, what an unknowingly grotesque thing to say to a horrid man like him, “I know you will love and adore our child, you will protect that infant and you will find your life lit up by the joys of fatherhood, I am certain, now, please, put that child inside of me. A son, for Nordion’s future. And later, after a few years have passed, a daughter and then once more for good luck, a surprise.”

Eldigan exhaled through his nose. An odd and wry exhale. He was completely certain that any child borne of his loins would be cursed. He knew that if he were to have a son and a daughter, that his own history would repeat but he clashed against such thoughts. He had to overcome these base, taboo instincts of his and do something good, right, and natural. For the sake of his country and all the burdens that he carried as a Holy Knight and prince. For that sake and that sake alone, he found it in himself to go through the motions expected of him.

To honour his wife, Eldigan kissed Grahnye with impure passion, not for her but for someone else. Grahnye’s lips were soft, smeared with nude coloured lipstick, and he kissed her slightly harder. He breathed in the scent of her acrid perfume and he pushed forth. Against her body and against his own feelings. 

His right hand slipped down her body and pushed aside the excess of fabric that she was all embroiled with upon her blessed wedding day.

(Not theirs; only hers.)

Eldigan breathed hard and he pulled back her hosiery hidden beneath. Grahnye was scandalised now that she had awoken the beast inside of Eldigan but it was not a beast whom she could tame. He made a clinical sex to her. His roughness and aggression unto her all controlled, methodical, but she noticed not in her squealing as she accepted his manhood inside of her. Like a sword, he swiped upwards and held it to a peak, waiting for divine lightning to strike and when it did not, Eldigan started again, drawing back but never so far that his hilt withdrew with him. Over and over, with gritted teeth and a pinched brow, Eldigan attempted to procreate with this woman who shared not a single drop of blood with him. 

“If it's a boy, Ares,” Eldigan declared, panting hard as he finally felt himself close to facilitate the conception of a child, “a-and if it is a girl…” 

He closed his eyes and for a moment, he had clarity. It was not Grahnye whom he was lying with in carnality, no, it was his dearest Lachesis and for a moment, he had a vision of a golden haired child who took after him, after the blood that he shared with his half-sister, and not a single drop of resemblance to this child’s birth mother, Grahnye. 

Beneath him, legs entangled, body throbbing, Grahnye looked up, close to her own orgasm, incidental to Eldigan’s, “Yes?” she prompted him. “If it’s a girl?”

The wrong name almost came out of his mouth as he orgasmed but he controlled himself. Instead, it was a garbled moan from the deepest recesses of his throat and he was contented. He had come in Lachesis’ image and the feeling was wondrous. 

He stilled himself. Panted. And he filled Grahnye’s womb with semen, a catastrophic deluge which would no doubt sire cursed blood, Eldigan was certain. But Grahnye smiled, blissfully ignorant and she still looked up at him, curious to his ideas. 

“...Rose.” Eldigan whispered in the wake of his sex. “I would like to name a fictitious daughter Rose.”

“What lovely choices… Ares and Rose…” Grahyne replied.

“Thank you.” Eldigan shyly replied as he retreated from inside of Grahnye.

His expression was unreadable as his heart turned to turmoil. What was good could not last and the pleasure of his orgasm turned to revolt. A mental or emotional adultery and with his own half-sister, no less. But for the sake of his kingdom, Eldigan told himself, a child would be born to this woman, his arranged wife.


	15. Nurse

Leo was not a jealous man. No, he considered himself rational and detached but he was still a man. A man with needs and wants and responsibilities. All of which were made difficult in between the War and the Outrealms but still, spending time with his dear and darling Felicia was precious.

Precious right up until he began to feel some peculiar twinges whenever he wistfully gazed across to his wife, nursing his child.

Leo had to admit. He was something of a frigid man, on top of everything else he was. His sex was clinical. Of scrolls and tomes more medical than erotic. Felicia didn’t mind but Leo had a quibble that maybe she was too afraid to ask for something more. She was that earnest type of girl, after all, a bit naive and naturally too servile, to say nothing in her precarious position as both a servant to the castle and a wife to a young prince of said castle.

Their son Forest, named by Felicia, surprisingly who yes, did take inspiration from Leo’s tome, Brynhildr, was about four months old, now. Difficult to tell whose time it was on due to the strangeness of the Outrealms but he was pushing up on his hands when he was lying on his tummy and smiling, giggling. He did that a lot and Leo was certain that that was a trait he got from his mother rather than his father; a musing which landed cold on his heart, admittedly.

A musing which left his mouth dry and his eyes lingering. He didn’t know what else to call it save a hunger. It stirred and swirled in the pit of his stomach, fringed with jealousy and peculiarity. One which both revilved Leo and intrigued him. 

As per usual, from afar, from behind the pretence of doing work, examining treatsies, preparing for the next war meeting, with nothing but lukewarm tea and a bit of buttered bread on his plate beside him, he watched as Felicia dabbed at Forest’s mouth. He gurgled and batted at her face as she tried to clean him. Spittle and milk on his chubby cheeks. It endeared Leo to study just how Forest seemed to take after Felicia; he may have Leo’s eyes but he had darling curls of pink and a smile which was unmistakably Felicia’s.

Felicia had just finished up feeding him. She had insisted that she didn’t need a wet nurse and given the circumstances, it would have been difficult to afford her such a luxury. She, of course, didn’t mind. What mother did want to bond with her child, after all?

“There we go…” Felicia whispered to Forest. “All done. Ready for nap-naps?” 

Forest gurgled, face suddenly going red, and then he yawned. Like a storm, all sorts of huge emotions came and went so quickly inside of him. 

“Ayup, you are definitely ready for a nap, mister.” Felicia said.

She picked Forest up and looked ready to toddle off. She caught Leo staring and he blushed. He averted his gaze and picked up a quill. He scratched illegible things into the paper so he could look busy. Felicia didn’t mind and she went to the other room where Forest could get some peace and quiet.

Leo was partially scandalised. Felicia had taken the tidy up Forest, his face and his little baby pyjamas, but she hadn’t done the same for herself. She was walking around, a tit out, brassier partially slung about, still leaking her milk, not minding at all how it got on her undone blouse, on her apron, or even her skirt. It was ridiculous, he had seen her fully naked and had known her carnally and in labour, too, but he just wasn’t used to seeing her like that. He blamed Camilla, she had done strange things to his young mind and it was still affecting him now…

Felicia returned and she smiled, “Do you want more tea, Leo? You seem pretty busy.” She idly scratched and poked her jawline as she brought it up. “Or is there something else you might want?”

“You know me too well, my dear…” Leo confessed.

“It’s been awhile since we’ve done it. Well before Forest was born… was probably the last time we did anything. You must be feeling pent up. I know I am.” Felicia shyly pointed out.

Leo got up, awkwardly, from the wooden chair and his thick desk. His fingers trailed over the back of his chair and he nodded.

“Yes, it is,” he said, murmuring, “may I make a request of you?”

“O-Oh! Yes, anything.” Felicia replied far too quickly with her characteristic clumsiness, in a way.

“...I want…” Leo found himself grappling with the air, hoping he could make words manifest from them but unfortunately for him, hand movements and the air correlated little with what he could do with actual words. So, he gave up. He tried again. Restarted. He took a big breath. “I want to suck your breast, too.”

Felicia blinked. She didn’t necessary flinch but something about her less than immediate reaction did cause Leo to err.

“Forget about it, I shouldn’t have made such a strange request-” Leo rambled.

“It’s fine. I just. I’m kind of surprised.” Felicia said. “Well, you have licked my nipples a couple of times during sex… And you like having yours done-”

“Felicia!” Leo scolded her but she merely laughed.

“It’s kind of taboo. But I don’t mind, if that’s what you want, I’m more than happy to be your personal cow.” Felicia said with a terrible, gawky wink and she fondled her exposed breast for even yet more effect.

And now Leo was having the less than instantaneous response. Felicia cringed, even put her hands up defensively.

“Too much…?” she asked, uncertain.

“We’ll work up to it.” Leo replied, wry.

“Yeah, it was too much.” Felicia replied.

“Small steps.” Leo said.

He took his own small steps closer to Felicia. He put his hands on her hips and she followed suit, mimicking and they danced around. Idle and dreamy, kind of honeymoony and they took steps back and forward, smiling softly unto one another, until they found some place where Felicia could perch whilst Leo sucked her breast.

She wound up on his desk. Leo pushed aside his crockery so that Felicia had some place to sit. She preened and smiled as she smoothed down her skirts. Leo slotted in between her legs and reached up to her. He had to crane his neck slightly but she met him halfway with a kiss. She could faintly taste his lunch on his mouth but it was mostly washed out by the earl grey tea he had been drinking.

The chaste peck shared lingered but Leo withdrew first. He moved down her neck and shoulders, peeled back the collar of her blouse some more. His kisses were feather soft with a hint of impatience. He wanted to get his request from Felicia but he also wanted to make her feel loved and appreciated first. Felicia didn’t mind either way as Leo cautiously came down to the convex of her breast.

He kissed her whilst his eyes flicked up, inching closer to her nipple. She nodded. Urged him wordlessly. Leo deepened that kiss, added tongue, then dragged his mouth downwards. Felicia flinched at the brush of teeth that she felt but then Leo latched on. She blushed and immediately, it felt different to before she had fallen pregnant and given birth as well as different to how it felt when Forest suckled her. 

Leo closed his eyes and he was gentle with how he suckled her. He probed her areola with his tongue and mouthed more of her breast. Felicia groaned slightly and that’s when Leo began to use his other hand. He reached up and fondled her left breast; it was soft through the covering of her blouse. His wrist brushed past the firmer of her garments, her brassiere which still managed to cling to her.

Timidly, Felicia began to lactate. Timidly, Leo swallowed.

Her milk was sublime tasting. Leo sighed as he came to eagerly swallow it. He suckled hard against Felicia’s breast; his fingers on her other breast dragging on her, groping harder. Felicia moaned, felt herself grow wet between her legs as Leo absolutely ravished her breasts.

Felicia reached out; she put one hand on Leo’s shoulder and the other at the nape of his neck. She splayed her fingers along both; her left hand entangled with the hair at the back of his head. Leo liked the sensation of her playing with his hair as he drank of her bosom.

Gulp after gulp, Leo did not tire of her taste. She was soft and plump; delicious, too. Oh, it was bliss, Leo thought to himself. After so long of observing, of chastising himself for being perverse, Leo found himself indulged in the most fantastic bliss. He could have sucked her dry, if she permitted - or if he permitted, he wanted to remain wary as they did have a baby in the other room, after all. And with much regret, after savouring the taste of her milk for as long as he could, Leo began to remove his mouth from her nipple.

“O-Oh, Leo,” Felicia murmured, “this feels wonderful.” she praised him.

Leo was starstruck as he looked up at her, traces of milk on his now puffy lips, “No, you are wonderful.” he corrected her. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Felicia replied quietly. She leaned down and kissed his forehead. “You can ask for my milk any time, I promise. I’m your wife so I can be your cow, if you like.”

“Felicia!” Leo scolded her again and she dissolved into so much laughter that he couldn’t be mad or embarrassed.


	16. Omegaverse

In a world ruled by nonsense and whim, it followed suit that it’s inhabitants would have innate extremes of desire. Sadness became depression; happiness became mania; annoyance became rage; and, of course, love because an all consuming, all enrapturing lust.

Though, lust was a peculiarity amongst the arrangement of emotions within the hearts and souls of the Dökkálfar and Ljósálfar all alike. Ascribing a system amongst them was difficult, blurring, but it did have a biological basis in the body: how sexual characteristics were displayed and the like. Omegas were the fertile ones who bore the children; Alphas were the fertile ones which inseminated the Omegas so that they could bear the children to begin with. When born, it was difficult to ascertain how a child would come to present upon adulthood but it had its quirks and spontaneity. 

Like flowers in spring, the heats and ruts were as inescapable as pollen on the breeze. Simply all consuming and being the creatures of play that they were, there could be no resisting or denying themselves these carnal pleasures of reproduction and procreation without herbal intervention.

Poor Plumeria… she was an Omega in the throes of an incessant heat.

It was something of an oddity. Surely the Dökkálfar of Lewd Dreams would be a succubus whom none could resist but oh how the fates reversed. The pounding in her head, the pulsating of her blood, the way she dripped with the most potent of nectars between her legs: these were all the markers of an Omega.

And poor Plumeria, she was a prime and desired Omega partnered to an Alpha who was anything but how she ought to be characterised. Omegas were subservient; Alphas were dominant; Omegas were passive; Alphas were aggressive; so on and so forth in all the binary of the dynamic but Plumeria’s Alpha was pitiful in her eccentricity as an Alpha. Triandra was anything but the quintessential or eponymous Alpha. 

No, Triandra was a rather slovenly Alpha. Barely territorial and the pheromones she exuded were easily overlooked. She didn’t have the sharpness in her eyes keen to a normal Alpha but she didn’t minded. She found sex unsatisfactory, she felt no need to further their species, not when she - she and Plumeria - both knew that there were other ways of creating Dökkálfar and Ljósálfar. So, unlike Plumeria who was increasingly immune to all the things she could take to suppress her heat, Triandra was on a steady diet of rut suppressants. Anything to rid herself of these grotesque, base instincts… 

But, secretly, she had to admit. She got off - just a little bit - watching Plumeria as she toiled with her body in her all encompassing heat.

Plumeria moaned in misery, dry humping her pillow, tightly clenched between her thighs for some scantest feeling of satisfaction. The scents that swirled around her were powerful and intoxicated; perfumed with smells apt to her name: plumerias. Her heat was a unique agony.

Triandra could only watch with pity in her eyes as she tried to offer up herbal medications which might otherwise alleviate Plumeria’s heat but they both knew that Plumeria’s desires could no longer be circumvented by chewing on bitter leaves of medication or eating dry bowls of rice porridge amongst other types of remedies. Oh no, her pain and her heat could only be sated with that which an Alpha could provide her in the throes of sex.

“Please…?” Plumeria begged Triandra. Her lips were plump and her eyes were wanting.

“We don’t have time for this…” Triandra said, averting her gaze despite how her heart latched onto such a pretty vision before, all hot and slick and sweaty, wanting nothing but her and her sex. “We have to serve our Queen first and foremost, not ourselves.”

“And the best way to help our Queen is to help ourselves.” Plumeria whispered.

Triandra breathed deeper than she meant to. The pheromones in Plumeria’s scent stimulated her brain and she felt herself rouse despite the suppressants that she took dedicatedly. She could feel her clit pulsate and her mouth watered.

“True. It’s like that parable about the drowning man…” Triandra murmured. “He curses out his gods when they don’t appear before him despite them sending him the miracles he needs to live.”

Triandra leaned in and she kissed Plumeria’s lips. They were petal soft and she was so eager to kiss back. To be kissed, in general. The ferocity was feral and it did something to Triandra. She could feel her own rut spill at the edges of her own medications. What a proud Omega, Plumeria ought to be, to have such affects on her Alpha.

Plumeria, excited, pulled Triandra onto the bed, off her stool by the bedside and Triandra pawed at the bedding around them both. Plumeria’s legs drew back and entangled with Triandra’s lower body, making them grind on one another. Plumeria smothered Triandra with suffocating kisses. The smell of her pheromones deepened and Triandra felt her head ache; oscillating between bliss and perdition. 

Plumeria began to tore off her clothes - and after so long that Triandra had tried to keep her in them. The silken fabrics just peeled off her, becoming nesting beneath her as she bucked and grinded against Triandra’s body. Triandra simply couldn’t keep up. She felt as though she was just fumbling through as Plumeria took what she wanted from her.

Triandra simply let her. Let this ravenous Omega have at her, tearing her clothes from her slender body, adding them to the nest of bedding and clothing beneath them. Plumeria reached for Triandra’s crotch and pulled back from kissing her. Already, her lips were kiss swollen. Her eyes shone with an unsaid plea and Triandra nodded.

“I’ll take care of you, my dear, I promise.” Triandra whispered, a husky murmur.

“Thank you, Triandra.” Plumeria whispered back.

Plumeria fondled Triandra’s crotch, threading her fingers through the anther-like attachments which began to exude from inside of her. They were long and pollen dusted, felt both coarse and soft to the touch and Triandra whimpered with how Plumeria fondled her. Guided her closer to her crotch before taking the reigns back. Triandra’s anthers slithered around Plumeria’s pelvis, slowly winding around her thighs and stroking her, petting her. Taking her all in savouring her. 

Triandra felt her breath catch in her throat with budding arousal as she felt her clit harden, length, protrude from inside of her. It was pink and engorged, ridged with thorns at the base and Triandra moved in closer. Plumeria gasped only for that gasp become a squeal as she was prodded with Triandra’s appendage. It was prehensile and moved akin to a tongue.

She grinded on Plumeria, scissoring her and she began to pant like a dog as her clit wound itself inside of Plumeria. She held her down, hand on each wrist, and Plumeria’s heart raced. Yes, yes, yes: this was exactly what she wanted and Triandra forced herself inside of Plumeria. The anthers swept over Plumeria’s skin, feather soft and their wings began to beat too. Fluttering, creating a minor gust as their bodies collided with strange, mixed passion: some of it forced, some of it organic, all of it all consuming.

Triandra pollinated Plumeria’s pussy. The exchange of pollen was immaculate; Triandra dripped with so much nectar. It made penetrating her so much easier, Triandra felt as though she could move so freely and deeply inside of Plumeria because of it. She felt blessed to be beholden to that silver nectar, let alone to revel with it as her clit pulsated through the slick.

And Plumeria couldn’t get enough of it. Triandra’s clit was thick and her anthers thin, the varied sensations were like heaven on her body as she got every inch of what she had wanted. She could feel her heat crescendo; curl and become something big and heavy in her chest. Her wings fluttered and her body ached. Her moaning became a symphony that Triandra couldn’t help but to hold dear to her with every elicited vocalisation.

“O-Oh, Triandra,” Plumeria cooed beneath her Alpha, her stomach twisting and knotting, becoming far too excited by how Triandra’s clit ravaged her, “I;m going to come, I’m going to-”

“Come then.” Triandra cooed back, bucking her hips viciously, then she snarled: “What a good little Omega…“So verdant and fertile. Do it, please, Plumeria, come for me.”

Plumeria nodded. Her face was deliciously red as she clenched her eyes shut, she tried to perform the action like Triandra had all but commanded of her but found herself not quite there. Triandra didn’t mind. She smiled a limpid smile and thrust back against her. Her hands clutched onto Plumeria’s wrists more tightly and she concentrated all her efforts on pleasuring Plumeria.

Triandra’s anthers swirled upon the surface of Plumeria’s skin, dragging nectar and pollen in their wake. Triandra’s clit rubbed up against Plumeria’s, coiling around it and stroking it. Triandra forced herself a little closer and Plumeria screeched as she felt the sudden brush of Triandra’s thorns against her intimacies.

Yet, strangely, it was that sudden piercing sensation amid the blissful, languid stroking which otherwise turned her one which is what she had required to come. Her scents and pheromones changed suddenly. Became acrid. And Plumeria came. She swooned and sighed beneath Triandra who savoured every reaction before her orgasm petered out but given the kind of Omega she wasn, Triandra had every expectation that Plumeria would be wanting more very soon.

But, for now, opening her eyes, and they were such a lovely shade of red, like blood or like garnets or even like the setting sun, Plumeria smiled, “Thank you, Triandra.” She paused a moment, felt awkward, even with how she and Triandra were so intimately entangled and then took a breath. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Triandra replied and she pressed a sweet kiss unto Plumeria’s forehead whilst her own genitalia disconnected from Plumeria’s.


	17. Cuckolding

“You are just my dearest friend as any other, Faye,” Celica had said, calmly, divinely, “and your love is my love is Alm’s love and Alm’s love belongs to you just as much as it belongs to me, I would be more than happy to have you as well.”

With a placid kiss upon her brow, Faye felt as though she had been made holy when Celica kissed her. Alm, ever chaste, averted his eyes but his heart fluttered. He was a little aroused by even the tamest acts of affection between both his wife and their shared, most adored concubine. 

The polygamy came with ease to them. A new era, an old hedonism. It caused scandal, yes, but so did many things so they were brushed aside in due time, making open affection between them easier. 

To think, even a village girl, born and bred, no hidden pedigree, could become a princess, Faye still had to pinch herself but somehow, behind closed doors, they felt more like people than they did in ballrooms or in war councils or the like. 

“Oh, Alm,” she moaned, her eyes closed as she rode Alm’s thrust, his cock deep to its hilt inside of her, “oh, it feels so good.”

“I-It does, oh, Faye, you’re- you’re so good to me.” Alm moaned back.

His mouth was on her neck and shoulders, kissing and licking, nibbling too. Faye shuddered as she embraced him back. Alm was all sinewy muscles, hard and firm and in the throes of made love, he just clenched. Was so tight with all the emotions he experienced and all the motions that he went through.

Faye, meanwhile, was much more loose. Even having let her hair down, quite literally; the dusty cocoa of her brown hair in waves down her milk white back, every vertebrae in her spine just peeking through the strands as she arched her back as Alm pounded into her. He was a force to be reckoned with, a force of nature, and Faye captured it all with delight. Eager to prove herself against his body, aroused and turned on.

Celica keenly watched all the minutiae before her. Eyes alight, with embers of passion, as she studied how her partners’ bodies interacted with each other. She was more than happy to observe whilst Alm and Faye had their sex. She was turned on, severely so, by their naked bodies and their passion and amour but she wasn’t the type to masturbate but their sex tested her. She was even so tempted to climb onto the bed and join them but tonight’s game was a game of watching, observing, and cuckolding - she knew she would get her own in due time per the rules. Though, the fact remained. Severely, dearly, Celica wanted a taste or a glimmer of what they had for they seemed to be having a sublime time entwined with one another.

Alm looked so elegant, holding another woman in his arms. He held Faye with adoration in his face as he kissed her. Faye looked so happy, her eyes blurred with dreams and the loveliest smile on her face. She clutched onto Alm dearly as she kissed back, moaning into his mouth as she grinded on him, riding his dick like he were a horse. 

Oh, it brought Celica much joy to observe. Even the smell of their sex was good, of wheat and citrus alongside the natural musk of their worked up sweat so different to when they practiced swordplay, archery, or any other number of their talents so they did not dull in the field.

It was marvellous and then Celica noticed it; a twitch in Faye’s brow and a sudden, guttural groan in Alm’s throat followed. They both felt it. They all felt it.

“A-Alm,” Faye whimpered, breathless, “I’m going- I’m gonna…”

“I know, love, I know.” Alm panted hard.

Celica held her breath, she felt herself draw it in and she raised a hand to her breast. She could feel her nipples hard through both her brassier and her gown; she was immensely wet between the legs for them. She was as equally excited for them as they were for their orgasms. 

What a blissful thing, to be dualistic and mutual…

Faye worked Alm over twice more with enthusiasm, guiding his hands over her bodies. His hands looked so large over her somewhat small breasts and she held his hand there. He could feel her heart pound and she smiled with her rural glamour as she orgasmed with him inside of her. Somehow, it felt a strange miracle to his calloused hand. 

Her pussy clenched tightly over him, her clitoris throbbed against him and Alm met her with similar eagerness. Moving his hips against hers. Their movements were not quite synchronised but came from a place of boundless excitement which elated them all - yes, Celica included as she found herself fantasising about what it would be like to be in that heated moment too, present and not just as a voyeur.

Alm came first and to Faye’s thrill. She was filled with his semen and she held herself steady through his deluge. His fingers dug in a little against her breast’s flesh as he came. His grunts a little bit animalistic but mostly because he was awkward and gawky as he orgasmed. But it was oh so satisfying regardless,

Faye’s orgasm followed in quick succession as she was filled by her partner’s cum. She could only be described as adorable as her orgasm powerfully bloomed inside of her. Her expressions were delicate and dainty, her voice a touch raw but utterly melodic otherwise, catching on her teeth as she savoured the feelings of her body and soul pleasured. She smiled so prettily as she opened her eyes and she saw double and delight with Alm looking up at her.

His smile was pure. Wholesome and encouraging and Faye leaned in to kiss it. There was something of a tickle of laughter between them whilst Alm’s dick softened inside of her, dislodging slightly and making a trickle of semen leak from between her soft legs. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, “that was truly the time of my life.”

Alm laughed, a little proud, but not necessarily smug.

Celica smiled for them, too. She even applauded them. “That was quite the show, you two.” she said. “I can tell you were enjoying it.”

“Oh, a-yup, I did.” Faye said and she half scrambled off the bed.

She picked up a blanket as she haphazardly threw herself off Alm’s lap and onto the floor. Her legs wobbled as she did so and Alm’s cum continued to streak down her legs whilst she swaddled herself in the blanket with one hand and the other, she reached out to Celica. She awkwardly took Celica’s hand and pulled her up from the chaise lounge that Celica had been observing her and Alm’s sex from.

“That’s why,” Faye said and she twirled Celica towards the bed, she fell against it with a flomp and the bed moved beneath her, “you should enjoy yourself too.”

Alm blushed. He was flattered that Faye felt so highly of him but he inched on Celica. He kissed her neck and shoulders, what was exposed from her dress, and she laughed, a touch sultry and a touch seductive.

“Thank you for your consideration, Faye, that’s very kind of you,” Celica said, “I hope we can put on just as good a show - or did you tire him out too much?”

“I hope not.” Faye said, laughing as she caccooned herself on the lounge, eager to watch her partners have sex with one another whilst she came down off her own heavenly high from the previous round. 

“I’m personally keeping my fingers crossed that I still have it in me to go a third time.” Alm said, jocular. “That way I can have both you lovely ladies at once.”

“What a fantastic idea, don’t worry, I won’t tire you out that much.” Celica said, uncharacteristically impish.


	18. Breast Worship

Chrom always had the honour of unclasping Sumia’s brasserie.

The clip was somewhat loose on this set, Chrom noticed as he unpicked it. He felt as though he were uncrowning her as he took it off and her breasts fell out of place with the security of the garment removed. Chrom glanced back up to his lovely wife’s face and she blushed, smiling demurely. Chrom could have sighed as he set aside the bra - and he did when he returned his face to see her own, round like the moon.

He embraced her. One hand around her waist and the other to her front, snaking up her plush belly as he went to fondle her right breast. She was so soft and he worried that his fingertips were not warm enough, nor even worthy of her gorgeous visage: in only her underwear and garters, upon their bed together. Chrom kissed her neck and shoulders, along her clavicles and she exhaled a wispy laugh.

Chrom gave her the best worship which he could muster with his gawking mouth. His heart raced as he breathed in deeply her scent; the lingering odour of a freshly washed Pegasus, with a pinch of cinnamon and cloves from her baking. Sumia moaned as Chrom delivered this worship of his unto her. He fondled her breast, fingers like slats over her nipple, slowly moving her. All whilst he kissed as deep as he could, his mouth trailing down to her left breast. 

He suckled her left nipple whilst he remained to slowly grope her other breast. Between both her breasts, he kissed at her feverishly, only to have that energy transform. He blew a raspberry into her skin and Sumia laughed. She poked his cheek and Chrom returned to more sensual kissing after his little attempt at humour. Sumia sighed heavily, from the bottom of her throat, whilst Chrom lavished her with all the love he could put upon the tip of his tongue. She held onto him, embraced him as he held her first. She carded her fingers through his mop of blue hair; she pressed a fleeting kiss upon his nose and then pecked at his temples, alternating either side with moans leaking out her mouth as Chrom kissed her.

Chrom looked up at her, his eyelids heavy and he smiled, “Sumia, my darling?” he prompted her.

“Yes, honey?” she replied, quiet, a touch husky, looking down at him with a similar blur of love and lust in her pretty brown eyes.

“May I…? I want to…?” Chrom innocently fumbled with his words. He smiled though.

“Come on, sweetie, tell me what you want… It’s my job to trip over my words, not yours.” Sumia laughed as she negged him on, kissing the corner of his mouth and then inching up his cheek and then along the edges of his face, up to his ears even, too.

Her lips were so silky. Chrom still couldn’t think right as she tried to elicit more than just general moaning from him but something specific. What he wanted so bad down in the depths of his body and soul pledged to her, his wife. So many months later, it still felt odd and giddy. His wife. His heart was fit to burst at the thought.

Chrom steadied his breath and gazed up into Sumia’s eyes, “I would like to put my penis between your breasts.” he said, empathetic and begging.

“Your wish is my command, sweetie.” Sumia replied with a giggle to her voice.

The elation which lit up Chrom’s face to hear that was beyond palatable. His eyes widened; his mouth slackened. He was just so happy and it was so adorable. Sumia caressed his face and kissed the slope of his nose once more with a smile. Beneath that kiss, Chrom could feel her breath and the brush of her butterfly-like eyelashes. It was sweet and stole his breath.

Rearing back, Sumia moved off the bed. Chrom swung his legs over and Sumia knelt before him. Between the framing of his thick legs and half hefted herself off, edging Chrom further over the edge of the bed by taking his hands, tugging them so as to be closer.

She touched faintly along the length of his manhood with a charming smile. Chrom felt warm fuzzies deep inside his stomach as Sumia touched her own breasts. To help her, or perhaps to fumble some more, Chrom tried to push his half-erect dick between her breasts. Together, they made it work and Chrom’s dick slotted between the soft flesh of her breasts. He blushed almost immediately.

“Do you like how it feels?” Sumia asked.

“I - I do.” Chrom stuttered out. 

Sumia chuckled as she encouraged him to rub against her breasts. He sighed, shuddered too. He could feel a tingle at the base of his spine as he arched forward. He was shifting his pelvis too and fro, it was barely a thrust but through the cushioning of Sumia’s pillowy breasts, it was heavenly. Just nice and slow. Warm, too. Chrom sighed and Sumia leaned forward.

She licked the crown of his penis with her tongue, tiny and tentative. Chrom could have jumped out of his skin when he felt her tongue. She edged along him with the precision necessary to ice a cake, he felt.

“Yes,” Chrom moaned, “please, my love, keep going, th-that feels very nice.”

“Aw, thanks, honeybunch.” Sumia replied.

And so, she kept going with her licking. Edging along his ridges, taking deep care at the middle of his corona, all whilst rubbing herself against him - and encouraging him bodily to do the same. Chrom grunted as he gently thrust against Sumia’s chest. She didn’t seem all that bothered by the power behind it, or lack thereof, but Chrom still wanted to go easy at her.

Slowly, Sumia’s mouth began to take more and more of Chrom’s cock. Her mouth was adorable and dainty; her sucking off of him even more so. But it drove him wild. Just the teeniest, tiniest things and Sumia had Chrom all hot and bothered like neither of them could believe. She probed his veins under his hood and skirted her tongue along his shaft, bobbing up and down as she had her fun, lifting her breasts up so that Chrom was oh so perfectly encapsulated.

Chrom’s hands sank into the bed either side of him as Sumia continued to go down on him just that little bit farther than before. He groaned as Sumia fellated him. Her mouth was so perfect, he thought and he felt so hard. So close, too. Especially now that Sumia had worked up to her crux. Sumia revelled in this point, he felt so thick in her throat and she loved how full her mouth was, too. Chrom could feel himself in the deep, deep of her throat, grazing her and he panted as she made him ache, drawing back. And when Sumia lifted her head up after keeping herself down for so long, there was a delicate bead of saliva from her plush lips and the head of Chrom’s cock.

“Oh, sweetie,” Sumia murmured after what had felt like an eternity of her sucking him off, teasing him, going up and down, licking his shaft, “you’re so…”

“Hot?” Chrom laughed.

“Cute.” Sumia flashed him a nigh apologetic smile. “Come on, baby, come for me. Come  _ on _ me.”

Chrom was scandalised by how salaciously Sumia encouraged him but he nodded. Sumia kissed the crown of his cock once more. Chrom raised his right hand back and he hid his face as Sumia returned to how she had started, cupping his cock between her breasts and giving small licks to the edge of Chrom’s cock. Grazing his knuckles against his lips, Chrom could feel himself burn up.

“Please, Chrom, come on my face?” Sumia begged him.

She flicked her eyes up and Chrom hazarded a look down through the slats of his thick fingers. Sumia’s eyes… pretty didn’t begin to describe them. They were a wonderful, deep brown with hints of grey through them. They reminded Chrom of raw ore. Her expression was cute and waitful. And with her tongue flattened around Chrom’s cock, waiting for his orgasm…?

Immaculate.

He couldn’t help himself. He came and Sumia beamed as Chrom’s semen jetted up, splashing across her face and even better, across her breasts. Looking at her, Chrom sighed at how he had painted her. She looked so cute and beautiful, even proud, holding up her breasts still to him and his cock, smeared with his come.

“Thank you, darling.” Sumia breathily replied.

Chrom could barely reply through his suddenly acquired chastity, blushing hard. Sumia merely smiled, happy to see her husband happy.


	19. Plush

Bernadetta was such a kind and wonderful friend, Edelgard thought to herself as she ran her finger along the curve of the bead the newest darling to her collection of plush bear shaped toys. It was made from hand, Bernadetta’s hand specifically, not only was she a wonderful friend, she was a wonderful craftswoman, as well. The swatches of fabric and fur, she had acquired all by herself, some of it hunted from market stalls and some of it was hunted from rabbits or shrews, tanned and skinned all by herself. She had stitched it together with the finest thread and now, she had given it to Edelgard to have as a friend as well.

It was a lovely and roughhewn little darling, Edelgard thought to herself as she curled around it, still tapping her fingertip on its large, glass bead eyes. They were smooth and cool on her skin; the colouration a brown so dark it was almost black. The fur itself, alternations of creamed, off-yellow and russet browns given the variety of pelts that Bernadetta had sourced the fabric of it from but it was a fat, well stuffed friend with a belly welcome for hugs, Edelgard thought as she dragged her hands down its body to hug it.

She breathed in her scent and closed her eyes. It smelt distinctly of… not Bernadetta. Edelgard sighed a lamenting sigh. She felt faint arousal begin to linger deep inside of her. It was a shame, she thought, that this bear smelt more of forests and marketplaces rather than Bernadetta or her own things. Bernadetta had a pleasant scent, Edelgard thought, it wasn’t of spritzy perfumes like Dorothea nor was it strong of horses like Ferdinand or any other likenesses she could pull to mind of her classmates. It was all Bernadetta. But not this bear and that was a shame.

Edelgard’s hand began to wander, withdraw and find itself on a neither here nor there southward course for her loins. She patted herself between the legs, skirting up closer to her crotch and how her tights got into places which were a mite unpleasant. Bernadetta was a good and wonderful friend but she could never be a girlfriend, Edelgard thought. Another shame.

But, Edelgard thought as she traced the feeling of her own vagina through the fabric of her tights, Bernadetta could still be something closer to a girlfriend, even if it was only in daydream and never a long-term partner or the like. Edelgard didn’t want to involve an already flighty and frightened girl in things so terrifying as monsters and seconds Crests.

Edelgard closed her eyes and she focused on that smell beside her, emanating from her dear friend the bear. Hm, she pondered as she fingered herself through the fabric of her tights, she wondered if she ought to name the thing. Did it already have a name, one bestowed upon it by Bernadetta, perhaps she ought to ask as she began to daydream of Bernadetta making it.

Drawing up plans and smiling to herself with satisfaction, “Yes!” Bernadetta enthused. “This is d-definitely a stuffed bear that Edelgard would own!” and she would revel in that certainty. That gave Edelgard delight, too, considered the grim origins of Bernadetta’s eccentricities.

Edelgard moaned as she stroked her labia, petting herself before working towards her clit. The fabric of her tights and underwear a torture which she welcomed, denying herself the pleasure made its forthcoming all the more sweet and powerful. She kept imagining her dear and wonderful friend Bernadetta. In positions of domesticity, again returning to the idea of creating that bear for Edelgard and Edelgard alone, but also in positions compromised, of clothing off her body, of showing bare skin and touching herself - and even Edelgard. Edelgard being the dashing rogue showing Bernadetta exactly how to feel good.

My, what pithy mewling she could elicit from someone as neurotic as Bernadetta. That would be fun.

Somewhere in it all as Edelgard masturbated and fantasised, her parallel fantasies finally merged. And she couldn’t help but follow through with her own body, just like the Bernie in her head. She imagined Bernadetta at completion; not her orgasm, but at the completion of the bear’s creation. Edelgard imagined her completely enraptured by the success of her craftsworks and imagining that it got her horny. She imagined Bernadetta humping the very same bear that she was cuddled up against herself to masturbate and it didn’t take long for the adorable image of Bernadetta - sticky with sweat, hair fluffy, face flushed, still in her little schoolgirl uniform and still wearing her spats - humping the bear.

Edelgard chewed on the image of imagining Bernadetta enjoying how the fur felt on the inside of her legs. Of enjoying how it felt to hump the bear’s belly and shivering with the ectasy of being naughty; this was a  _ gift _ for the young woman who would be the next  _ Emperor _ of the Adrestian Empire, after all, how could she do something so ill and perverse?

Edelgard relished the thought of Bernadetta’s face flushing red with endorphins rather than anything else. That was a particularly potent image which made her smug and hot under the collar of her own schoolgirl uniform. She simply had to, at this point, as her imagined Bernadetta began to grind herself to completing herself, not just her bear.

Edelgard moved herself up, got to her knees instead of fetally cradling the item which connected her physically to the object of her admirations so, so far. Edelgard rolled down her tights to just above her knee, she was sopping wet and she could feel her arousal drenched on her underwear as she moved it downward of her leg as well.

She grabbed the bear and held it steady, thankful that it was something of a large toy, all things considered. She stuck it between her thighs and Edelgard took a deep breath which greatly inflated her lungs. The feeling of her wet pussy against its dry fur was indescribable and it turned her on some more, making her lurch forward and as she humped.

What a perfect partner, she thought to herself, as she held the bear steady as she humped it. Edelgard kept it still when she needed it still and moved it when she needed that extra friction. Edelgard panted as she kept imagining Bernadetta at her adorable peak, savouring the image of what she thought Bernadetta would look like at orgasm until she brought forth her own.

The finishing feeling was eclectic. She moaned from the depths of her throat as she rode out all there was to the euphoria that followed. Her heart pounded and satisfaction enraptured her atop her bear and she had the perfect thought for its name in the wake. She panted, licking her lips and felt so warm so deep under her skin.

Clarence, she thought, would make a fine name for the bear but she would ask Bernadetta first, to make sure the darling didn’t already have one, Edelgard desired to respect Bernadetta’s wishes of namesakes and other fondness involved.


	20. Body Decoration

“You are an unholy temptation, Tharja, my dear.” Libra chided her, more wry than cruel.

“I know.” Tharja said breathlessly.

She was posed on the bed, all for him. Long, naked legs shifted, her leg drew back higher whilst her right continued to anchor her; she lounged about, amid pillows and velour sheets. She wore nothing but the scantest fabrics atop herself; sequined pasties of indigo ribbed violet on only her nipples and this sheer, little loincloth to cover her privacy.

“But what of you, man of Naga, will you succumb to this succubus that you’ve taken in marriage?” Tharja teased him.

“Of course, I am your husband. If you have needs and wants, it is my sacred duty to abide by them.” Libra said and he bowed his head; he also placed a hand on his heart.

“Then I think you know exactly what I want.” Tharja’s voice was husky and her entire demeanour was come hither, framed by long eyelashes that she fluttered and her mouth looked divine rather than sinful despite the scarlet she painted them with.

Libra licked his lips and he approached, uncertain of his steps in this twilight facade lit only by flickering candles here and there throughout their master bedroom. He knelt at the altar that Tharja had made of their bed and he prayed for their good health and good enthusiasm - but only curtly - as he began to inch up so he could meet this harlot that he loved very dearly.

“Kiss me.” Tharja instructed him.

Libra obeyed. He kissed chastely on her lips, savouring the velveteen feel of her lipstick and the taste of piquant herbs on her breath. Her breath left him wanting more but he was he who was denying them both. The peck began innocent but turned ravenous and so Libra’s head bobbed down. He kissed Tharja’s breasts, they were soft and ample. He nosed past the fabric of her pasties and he found it surprisingly irritating across the bridge of his nose as he kissed heavily below, upon her underboob. 

Tharja laughed a sultry laugh. Libra was uncertain of what amused her so he rose up once more to kiss her on the mouth. She responded well to that. This second kiss was not so chaste. It gave in more to that hunger building between them. Yet he was silent whilst he kissed her. They both were but it was not cold, their eyes meeting in brief, as there was fire exchanged in their irises. 

But such intensity frayed as their lungs began to ache. Libra pulled back, cupped her face as he lounged within her embrace. She could feel his arousal between his legs, through the garb that he wore as a war cleric. Libra kissed along her jawline, breathing steadily so as to not pant but Tharja’s heart began to race as such, she began to unravel at his touch. Wanting more, more, more from him but he was so locked to give it to her with wanton freedom.

“Keep going.” Tharja urged him and Libra bit her lip. 

She moaned as she felt the gentle pierce of his teeth on her lip. In a way, even his incisors felt blunt but it made her melt. He held her steady and held her down for what felt like a minute before releasing her. Tharja’s breath sped up and there was a wild look in her eyes, only to be met with the utter seriousness in which Libra portrayed himself, even in sex.

“Understood, my love.” Libra told her.

Tharja smiled a sharp smile. She felt a shiver go down her spine as Libra once more abided by her and her requests. She shifted her legs and Libra slotted in close, and perfect. She gasped when he felt his big, strong hands on her thighs, groping her as he moved his head in nearer to her loincloth. He kissed her through it and then looked up at her.

His eyes, even in the lowlight, barely amber coloured and mostly like the din of a dust storm thanks to the candles in the dark, were gorgeous. An olive green: verdant but savoury. 

His kiss was similar. Tharja felt the silken garment press onto her and she grew aroused. Wet. And she sighed.

“Oh, Libra…” she moaned.

“I understand.” Libra teased her.

He kissed her some more through the sheer veil of fabric that she wore. His kiss was strong. Stern. Tharja moaned and it was only then, when her voice sounded strained and on the edge of a knife-like ecstasy, did Libra act further. He was delicate as he pushed up her loincloth, his other hand on her thigh, his thumb stroking her smooth skin. And then he put his mouth to her pussy in an act like the most humble salvation of eating, as though he were grateful for a meal.

He ate her out with ardency and amour. Tharja shuddered whilst Libra gave his all unto her. He moaned into her pussy lips and she was enthralled by the reverberations. He gave her broad strokes, slowly narrowing and becoming more precise as he teased her. He eventually came to lick at her clit, tenderly and with care but it only made Tharja unravel against his mouth all the more. Her arousal was sopping wet and he adored that taste. Savoury and poignant, even if it did numb him slightly in how he kept up such a vigorous pace that Tharja responded extremely well to.

Libra was all but humping the bed beneath them both as he was undeniably turned on by Tharja’s cunt as he ate her out. He held her down, steady through it and he could still feel the wisp of that loincloth on his nose - she was hairless down there, like a cat, only that silken loincloth, so thin and sultry, was there to tease him. His breaths were hot and heavy over her wet skin.

“Oh, Libra, please, this is cruel to even me.” Tharja begged. 

With the tip of his tongue, Libra kept her at that brink that he adored. It was a penance: to teach her that good things came to those who wait. Quite literally, in a sense. He made sure to keep her there for as long as he could did, to make their indulgence all the more sweeter when pleasure rightfully came of it.

“Please, Libra, stop it- give it to me.” Tharja crooned for him.

Alas, he was no angel, he was just a man, but her wish did become his command regardless. He eased up, gave her time to breathe and recuperate between each swipe of his tongue through the folds of her pussy. Then, in no time at all, having finally been given that moment of reprieve to simply enjoy the bliss of Libra’s tongue and mouth, how he worshipped her no matter what a devil she was, Tharja came.

Libra swallowed her pleasure with much agreement. Contentment, too. Sighed as he let her grind against his face as she experienced her orgasm: how it felt under her skin, so tight, how it made her curl her toes and pant just that little bit heavier. Libra relished how Tharja crooned for him, how she tasted and how she sanguinated with her sexual euphoria.

Slowly, he lifted his head, the long, silky strands of his blonde hair moving with him, slipping over the slouch of his shoulders and there was a look of holy ecstasy in his eyes.

“How was I?” he asked.

Tharja smiled, tutting, as she reached over herself to meet him, she gracefully caressed the edge of his face before finally pecking his lips. 

“Perfect, father.” she replied with a curl of laughter on her lips.


	21. Ravishment

Corrin had always daydreamed of some big, bad knight all armoured up, black and dented, picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder. She always imagined him on a white stallion which was scarred with a shaggy, grey mane. Oh, oh, and he would wield the biggest sword that she had ever seen.

He would stride out of nowhere, at dusk, and be gone by dawn - with her in tow. He would win her like a prize off her older brother, Xander. She would fight and protest but he would be huge. A massive man of mystery. His right hand alone could take her by the waist so no matter how she would kick and scream, she would be overpowered by the raw and gargantuan knight that she daydreamed of.

Then, once they had ridden together, so far that Nohr wasn’t even so much as an eyelash in the distance, the knight would take her, right then and there. Take her virginity from her body no different to how he would rip off her clothes. Making a cruel and sweet love to her in some foreign forest floor that Corrin had never heard of.

Now, being a good girl and a good princess, Corrin had never breathed a word of her fantasies to anyone. At least not whilst they were in their current evolution; she did sometimes mention her daydreams to Silas and Leo, when they were children, and they were looking for play pretends to act out. And all Corrin wanted was a sense of adventure outside the four walls of that snaked around the castle grounds; walls she wasn’t even allowed to see for she was far too troublesome to be allowed even that far within what was considered the permissible realm.

But now she was a married woman.

A married woman with a very active husband. One who was kind and wolfish and adored the very ground that she walked on, truth be told. 

So, it came up. Now and then. As pillow talk after their very vigorous love making which they had all too regularly. Corrin might not let Keaton ever know the name of the tall, dark, and handsome stranger in her daydreams - truth be told, the name she gifted him had stuck around for a decade and was sort of dated, mired in what she  _ thought _ a big, bad, handsome knight should be name but was now embarrassing in hindsight - but she would leave other hints for Keaton, so that he may learn the breadcrumb trail of her daydreams.

And now it was very much for the better and best.

Corrin had been shy at first. Worried Keaton may reject her for being a little bit… out there and taboo in her fantasies and especially the ones that she did want to enact outside her mind and in the privacy of their bedroom but she was quick to discover such concerns were unfounded. Keaton was very much excited by Corrin’s idea and he was swift to come up with ways to embellish her ideas with his own and build them up into something new and fun for them both.

Keaton might not be the big, bad knight from her daydreams but he was of equally ferocious status. The big, bad alpha wolf. The head of his pack and they were just on the edge of the room, ears pressed to the walls, salivating and their tails wagging, perving on their alpha and his brand new toy. All of them, fierce mouthed and mindless for sex, were eagerly waiting for their turn to tear into the little lost lizard that Keaton had most forcefully brought back to the mountaintop where they resided.

Keaton held Corrin down as he took her from behind. He was fully transformed and in this state, Corrin was miniscule to him. His paws on her hips, keeping her firmly in place while he fucked her full of his prick. She was so wet and loose in her overstimulated state of being constantly pounded. His prick was huge. Big enough to graze her navel when he had slotted it between her legs, a threat akin to a knife to her neck and yet was perfect inside of her despite that immense size and girth.

Corrin moaned, her voice dripping with lust as Keaton had his piece with her. He ripped onto her a little tighter. She yelped as she felt his claws prick at her sides whilst he slid into her just that bit deeper before frantically retreating. His knot kept firm and steady against her whenever she recoiled in the wake of the friction that Keaton kept up with her.

The smell of musk which permeated around them was putrid. Vile. and yet Corrin found it to be the most salacious and perfect aphrodisiac as she felt herself inch closer to orgasm. Her cunt utterly abused between her legs and she wanted nothing more than that. Her eyes began to blur and water as Keaton kept up that fervent pace. She could feel the breeze that he whipped up with how his tail so excitedly wagged as he fucked her. Above her, he towered over her, his belly to her back, rubbing against her, feeling the thick of his white underbelly’s fur. It was gorgeous to feel on her bare skin but so unkempt despite Corrin’s better attempts to keep her husband and mate groomed.

“How do you like that, princess?” Keaton asked her. His voice dropped low and gravelly. He slobbered. “Feeling all high and mighty? Dainty and refined?”

He was doing his best to sound mean and scary. He had dropped his voice and he was trying really hard to reign in his tail so that it didn’t wag excited. It wagged menacingly or the like; with his ears flattened to the top of his head. Keaton’s heart hammered in his chest as he fucked Corrin, the absolute love of his life. He really hoped that he was doing a good job, Corrin seemed to think that he was. He was having so much fun in this role as Corrin’s big bad alpha wolf, he bounced on the toes of his foot as he kept pounding her. 

Corrin panted. She was too wrecked to be able to respond. She just moaned mindlessly, completely enthralled by how Keaton was thrusting at her. Her brain had simply melted long, long ago into the fast paced rhythm that Keaton had been able to keep up for what had felt like hours.

“Heh, am I that below your station that you can’t even talk to me? What a fuckin’ tramp. I’ll make a right mess of you, just you wait, princess.” Keaton snarled.

Corrin’s ears pricked up to hear that. She stiffened slightly and Keaton gave her a push to keep her down to the plush of the bed that they shared. It squeaked and creaked, absolutely hating to take so much of Keaton’s weight when he was in his full beast form.

“O-Oh, please,” Corrin moaned but Keaton could hear flicks of encroaching laughter on her voice as her character, the meek and dainty princess, all sheltered and pitiful, began to crack, “please don’t, I couldn’t, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” Keaton informed her, contrary to just how willingly she clearly was with how she lifted her rear to him more, like a true bitch on heat.

Keaton groaned and he began to come. His knot pumped semen through him and his prick erupted with it by the gallon. Corrin attempted to protest, even in jest, to abide by the course of her fantasies, but she was simply unable to as Keaton just flooded her with his cum. He stopped his thrusting of her and simply savoured the feeling of having Corrin all plugged up with his knot, dousing her in semen. 

“Keaton…” Corrin helplessly murmured her lover’s name.

Keaton had to bite his tongue. He so instinctively wanted to pipe up, “Yes, honey?” to that lasvinscious way she was able to speak his name. His tail wagged ferociously as his ears perked up, every hair on his body was raised, too. He had no idea if Corrin knew just how much power she held over him like this. So, he held her still and steady through his ejaculation.

Corrin panted shallowly right up until her breath became twisted with the feeling of her own orgasm. With the reprieve of silence in the wake of being so continuously fucked, Corrin could finally begin to make sense of every sensation that she was brimming with and it all just meant one thing as her breathing evened out. Imminent pleasure. 

Her orgasm was pure bliss. It felt like a glow inside of her, akin to when her Dragon Stone was in use. She couldn’t have been happier with how it welled up inside her chest. To bring fantasy to real life. She had been terrified that it wouldn’t be what it was all cracked up to be but as exhaustion was alchemised into unadulterated gratification, she was again. So perplexed that she ever had such thoughts of doubt and concern. 

Keaton dislodged from inside Corrin with tentative uncertainty. He let go of her waist and his heart fluttered with fear seeing the pink-purple stripes of his claws on her skin. She moaned when he pulled out; his semen leaking out from her too. She just collapsed beneath him and he transformed again.

He nuzzled up to her, side to side, whining like a kicked puppy. Corrin, exhausted and tired but so deliriously happy, nuzzled up to him. She cupped his face and kissed his nose. Even when it was perfectly human, it felt slightly wet to her skin.

“Good boy.” she told him.

Keaton’s eyes lit up and he immediately pounced on her some more. His legs wrapped around her waist as he held her in a quick and fierce embrace. Half humping her but that was more of an inadvertent accident, not that Corrin minded as she was so ferociously hugged. Keaton smothered her with kisses all over her neck and shoulders; Corrin laughed and just kept on calling him what he was as she was so ferociously kissed with everything that Keaton was. He was such a good boy. Especially when he was playing the role of a bad boy.


	22. Oviposition

He was a corpse. That’s all he was. Dead. Rotting. Not alive. 

But despite the decay and how he came to be riddled with ectoplasm, he could still foster life. There was life after death. He knew there was for he walked that lonely path in this cold, cold purgatory. Where the dead lived only to die another day. Again.

Líf sputtered as he took the brunt of the ovipositor as the creature behind him tried to find the cloaca that he very much did not possess. He felt reverberations on his all but bare ribcage. The ectoplasm that held him together rippled as he swallowed a grunt. The creature behind him gave another thrust and was finally able to enter him after much exploration of his body. Sharply poking along with its member until it found his anus.

“Fuck!” Líf yelled.

_ Fuck me dead _ , he was almost tempted to yell but he bit his tongue, just to taste the blood. It was strong with iron and an unpleasant taste but it made the perfect bed for his voice and his cuss words. From the pit of his stomach, he had yelled but it wasn’t enough to convey the agony of this sex. His cock strained against his armour, bent over the breeding stock like nothing more than a common criminal made to be assaulted and nothing more.

The Fáfnir of Hel were mindless drones. Bodies abandoned to a world that didn’t care for them. Saw them as beneath human and neither a god - or even its foul, ugly progeny. Completely and totally unlike the Manakete of the worlds of Awakening or the New Mystery, for instance. These dragonid humans were abominations. To wreak havoc in whatever form it took. To create yet more soldiers by whatever means necessary. The Fáfnir had been here before death and they would be here for a long time after, too. The only creatures in this realm which weren’t held together by decay and ectoplasm.

Except, of course, for the royalty of this realm. But their skin was ice cold, their eyes vacant, their lips were blue, they were just as dead as everyone else, too.

Everyone save for the Fáfnir: their bodies burned magna hot and Líf had not been subjected to such intensity of warmth and life in a long, long time. He could barely take it. He could smell cinders and smouldering flesh - his own - as the Fáfnir fucked him. Fucked him full of its kin and its eggs. 

The Fáfnir held down on his waist, its claws sinking into the gelatin of his ectoplasm and giving him a ride. Pounding, thrusting: it was over and over, continuous, complete with moans and grunts from behind. Low growls which made Líf shudder; he could feel the vibrations in the calcium of his vertebrae down his spine. 

The Fáfnir gave one last grunt and its ovipositor surged forward inside of Líf. It tore him up. It was a penile thing which was scaled and barbed and it was bigger than anything that Líf could have fitted inside his virginal, boy-hero hole when he was alive. Before he was a corpse and a soldier in the barracks of his very enemy. His stomach twisted and knotted and he felt an obscene entry inside of him.

He groaned and he tried to wrestle himself from the bondage of the wooden stocks that he had been forced into. Humiliation for the boy who would have been king. It was his duty the same as any other soldier’s. It all mixed and compounded and now he was just breeding stock for some lizard that just so happened to be warm blooded and human faced.

Its ovipositor gave a pump and Líf groaned. A horrid guttural noise from the bottom of his throat as he felt an egg push up inside of him. It felt huge. It was round and orb like rather than being rounder at the bottom than the top. Not to mention, its shell was not the smooth and fragile membrane of a chicken egg or similar; it certainly was not filmy or slimy like caviar like Líf would wish it was. That would be too easy. Too painless. Too good for the punished citizens of Hel. Oh no, not at all. It was rough and coarse but once the Fáfnir gave another push, a noise which snipped and snapped from its maw, the egg entered the mess of royal blue ectoplasm that Líf’s midsection was rendered unnaturally from. There, it glided through him. Floated and bobbed and he felt vilely sick. Ill. 

He could feel it bump up against his ribs. He gagged and could taste bile on his tongue as he bent down further over the stocks. The wood kept him bound, head over heels, practically. His ass up like he was on oestrus but he felt anything but. Even with his erection between his legs, unfortunately aroused in this horrid situation. He panted; his head throbbed with a terrible ache and migraine. 

The Fáfnir began once more. A second egg was pushed through all the tubes of its ovipositor, the scales budging inside of Líf as the egg was goaded forth. Pushed on fluids which were something like semen; only clearer in colour and had a faint odour. Líf groaned and he held onto the wood tighter, feeling it bristle beneath, fledged with splinters. 

From behind the Fáfnir pounded him, shoving itself forth, trying to lodge its ovipositor further inside of him. Before the second egg could even arrive inside of Líf and make a nest of his guts and ectoplasm, the Fáfnir produced a third and even a fourth. It intended to make breeding stock of him. To it, he was nothing more than an incubator and as Líf adjusted to the revolting sensation of being utterly glutted with eggs, he ultimately decided it was fine. 

He let what happened happen. He came as the Fáfnir pulled out, fluids gushing and he tried to find some vain revelry in being used the only way he knew how. He was a corpse and there was life after death; just as his old body was eaten by maggots, he would host new eggs inside himself, just to bring something good from what he was. All disgusting and revolting.


	23. Mommy Kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> her canonical husband is unnamed so i kept it ambiguous

All her life, Faye only wanted the simple pleasures in life. A good sized cottage to share with her and her husband, two maybe three kids: a girl and a boy, at the very least. A ring on her finger and good harvests in September. And for a while, she was worried that she’d never get that kind of life and she waged war with the Gods above over that. She never asked for much: just salt in her soup and nothing worse of an injury than pricking her finger whilst sewing. Thrust into war, following her one true love into a battlefield, Faye saw a lot of horrors which never really left her but hopefully, all that was truly behind her.

The quilted doona cover rested upon them both. It was plush and heavy and Faye found it to be a sublime comfort in its simplicity. She smothered her husband with kisses, he had her pinned to the bed: a huge mattress in an even bigger wooden frame. She cupped his face and sighed as she kissed his sun reddened nose and then his cheeks and then along his lips.

“Thank you,” she whispered, “I love you, thank you for loving me…”

Her voice was hoarse and lidden. Her eyes were heavy but with lust. Her husband smile and breathed in her scent of apple pie crusts and dowdy lye soap. It was a nice, pleasant smell.

“I love you, too, Faye.” he said.

Faye erred away at the sound of her name in her husband’s mouth. She always did. A sympathetic crease across her brow but she smiled softly.

“I’m ready, honey,” she confessed, “I - I want to be made a mama.”

“O-Oh.”

“Mmhm, ready to be a mama duck to some ducklings.” she giggled.

“I think you’d be a mama bear to some bear cubs.” her husband replied in banter but again, Faye erred.

A flinch that they both noticed. Felt. Again, she smiled sympathetically and kissed him slow. Her lips against his and she admired the grain of them. Chapped and rough but its what she wanted. A hunky, chunky country man. He was from further out in the hinterlands: a Ram Villager but only in name, he lived on the outskirts, after all. 

With a brief flutter of musing and fantasy, Alm came back to mind. His kisses on her eyelids even though he had never done more than hold her hand whilst playing games of ring around the rosies and the like. She had to move on, she told herself, even though pine she still did for someone totally unlike the man she was presently on bed with. Still, her heart yearned and ached and that caused a world weary smile upon her jaw. 

“I wanna be a little birdie. I want to trust that our kids could fly.” Faye said. Completely and totally unlike her who came back to where she came from, hungering for stew and oranges plucked straight from the tree. “I want them to grow up and spread their wings.”

“Well, mama,” her husband began and finally, he kissed her back, even if it was a sweet peck on the corner of her mouth, “yer the prettiest bird I ever saw go by. A regular Swan Princess, I’d say.”

“C-Call me that some more.” Faye politely begged of him, clutching onto her burly shoulders.

“Princess?” he blinked. “Yes, well, no. You can decide. A princess or a mother. I’d be happy either way.”

He laughed. He had such a jolly laugh and Faye had to admit, it never failed to bring a smile to her face - one genuine and blithe - to hear it. It had such a brassy and unpolished sound to it. She liked it.

“Well, Mama, how many liddle ducklings do ya want?” he beamed.

“Th-Three, I wanna have three little ducklings.” Faye said.

“On it, sweetheart.” her husband said, strong as the colour blue.

Faye reeled with laughter as she was squeezed suddenly, her hands pressed together to both her breast and her husband’s and he assailed her kisses. She squealed and laughed as she felt the bristles of his beard which was coming through; his lips on her neck, he suckled at her pulse. Gladdened that she had come alive with such joy after a brief bout of melancholy in their intimacy.

He grinded on her, atop of her. She felt his manhood, it was fat and hard and got her a little bit wet to feel through her own nightgown. She sighed, only to pant just after and he pulled back. Faye took the moment of repose and the morning sunlight looked so fond on her husband’s sturdy brow. She smiled.

“Are ya ready, Mama?” he asked.

Faye nodded, excited. “I am.” she replied enthusiastically. “Make me a mama duck, my drake.”

Her husband screwed up his face to hear that.

“It’s the word for a male duck…” Faye embarrassedly explained as their dirty banter began to hinge a bit too bizarre between them.

“I think I’d be a goose.” he said and he kissed her one last time before his meaty hands began to fumble for the drawstrings hanging off her collar, trying to get her at least partially out of her nightgown. He groped her breasts and he could feel her nipples, scantly, through the fabric.

“Then maybe we’ll make signets, that’d be nice, my goosey-loosey.” she joked, thinking again about how it would be nice to have children stronger and more adventurous than her…

“Sounds good, sweetie.” he said.

He groped her chest - admittedly mediocre in bust size - once more before exploring her hips. He began to push up the fabric and it bunched along her waist in linen-cotton clumps, he grinded on her and she moaned. 

Her husband continued to make his love to her. It was gawky and awkward and clumsy but Faye, honestly, wouldn’t have it any other way for it was so undeniably warm. Loving. She sighed and she felt him inside of her, she clenched slightly, not just in her pelvis but elsewhere too. She embraced him firm and she closed her eyes.

“C’mon, Mama, you can do it…” he urged her through it and she hung onto those words as hard as she could through their sex.


	24. Double (Or More) Penetration

What a fanciful girl, Innes thought to himself, hissing under his breath before feeling his shoulders lock and his muscles tighten. Her mouth was divine when she wasn’t prattling about all sorts of things under the sun, most of which Innes didn’t even follow but Gods above, she certainly knew how to work her tongue. And not just to enjoy her unusual gift of the gab.

Innes didn’t really get it. He didn’t have to, all he had to do was get it up for her, but L’Arachel had been going on about this and that, something about fertility rituals and the inner divinity of the goddess between her legs. It was weird stuff and Innes had tried to listen hard to her but she was too cacophonic and whimsical. All he knew was that somehow sex figured into it. Innes didn’t really get it but somehow, he wasn’t really surprised that the holy woman in a short skirt was insatiable.

She was sucking his dick but she was also using that staff of hers at once. It was… repulsive but repulsion was oddly close to arousal, Innes found, getting hotter by the minute under his collar.

L’Arachel’s lips were plump and that balm that she used on them was vaguely scented like strawberries and plums, Innes had sighed as she had slid her mouth over the head of his cock and taken him inch by inch. She made it look so easy and artful. Her eyes had flicked up and they were blue like the sky and Innes couldn’t begin to fathom her lust and just how deep that it went inside of her body and soul.

She tongued the underside of his cock whilst his head went straight to the back of her throat. He could feel her throat constrict around him and how her tongue made such a wonderful home for his cock before sliding back. Glancing down, Innes saw the echo of her lip balm smudged on his skin. His stomach did somersaults and Innes realised that she was only getting started. 

L’Arachel looked so dainty as she lavished his cock. Her mouth was so prim and her eyes were so delicate. Everything she did had an angelic halo, she was magic and purity, she glowed a pale blue without even thinking, a residue of her powers as a troubadour. Even when sucking dick, she was still all of that innately. Innes could hardly believe it and yet, holding onto his crotch, licking up and down his length, that still wasn’t enough.

So, she reached for her staff.

With his head tilted back, enjoying everything L’Arachel had to offer him, Innes didn’t pay much mind that L’Arachel’s attention had briefly split. L’Arachel hadn’t noticed much either since she had told him, before beginning, of her intentions but still, Innes’ eyes bulged when he saw her hand - baby soft, adorned with manicured nails - reach for her staff which had been oh so innocently propped up against the bed.

Innes watched, mystified, as the orb atop L’Arachel’s staff glinted briefly. A dazzle that he couldn’t miss and left coloured splotches on the back of his eyelids when he blinked. And L’Arachel pulled it in and thrust it between her legs, all whilst keeping his cock in her mouth. Her skill was unparalleled.

And Innes could feel her delight as she felt the buzz of brushing up the staff between her legs. She crooned into her fellatio of him. The reverberations were sublime and made Innes’ breath hitch, he blushed and blushed some more when he became acutely aware of just how red his face felt - and was. 

L’Arachel was wet between her legs. For her, it was all too easy to divide her attention between her own loins and Innes’. She was a woman of many, marvellous talents, after all. But the pleasure she felt as she slowly sank the orb atop of her staff into herself. Her eyes could have rolled back into her head as her heart raced: the feeling was beyond magnificent. And Innes was enjoying it just as much as L’Arachel was.

She masturbated herself beautifully, rocking the staff just below the adornment and she fellated Inness wondrously, too. Not neglecting him once, running her tongue along the mass of his cockhead before trying to take all of him to the base of her throat. Her skill was truly tremendous and Innes was enraptured to watch from on high.

Although, it was a shame he only had the one set of eyes and whilst they feasted on her, he found it to be nowhere near enough. He wanted to see her from below, too, not just from on high. He could only imagine how her pussy was expanding to take the gem sphere into itself. What vision that would be to commit to private memory, Innes lamented himself. Not once letting that melancholy stir his expression which was, alas, embarrassed as he felt alien to let himself submit to such pleasure that L’Arachel elicited from him.

All Innes could assimilate from his eyes, looking down unto L’Arachel’s graceful image, was that she was having the time of her life being penetrated orally and vaginally. Her joy lit up her face as she ardently sucked him off whilst delivering amour unto her own self, too. Like she deserved, going in deep on both ends for the exhilaration that was beyond sublime. 

Gods, Innes thought to himself as L’Arachel licked and kissed him to his climax, he couldn’t believe it. She was clearly relishing every inch of both her staff and his dick inside of her, Innes couldn’t help but to take his own relish in it, as well. Feeling his orgasm build inside of him. The way she swallowed his leaking precum a cursory good omen. She needily kissed his corona, glancing up at him with pleading eyes and Innes nodded.

He let him catch his own breath and he listened intently to the quiet noises of L’Arachel’s pleasure. The fellatio and the masturbation. Her voice could be cacophonic when she explained her eccentricity and boasted about her bravery and everything else but when she used her mouth to do this… Innes could melt at her every whim. And he did.

It was shoddy and drawn out but L’Arachel looked forward to it brightly. Innes’ breath was awkward and clumsy but he came. And L’Arachel swallowed every drop as though it were a holy communion. Her eyes closing briefly, her lashes so cute and beautiful, fluttering as she swallowed his semen. Innes shuddered, panted, and he let himself moan a little louder to L’Arachel’s glee and she drank more eagerly of his orgasm until he came to a complete finish. 

But she had barely started, pulling back, licking her lips contentedly but her eyes were still bidden to heavy curtains, opaque and alluring. She still had her right hand on her staff. Innes swallowed. He - He had a feeling that he knew exactly what was going to come out of her mouth next as she composed herself after fellating him. She beamed very, very shiningly and then asked her next sexual request.

“I want you to put your arrow in my quiver next, my archer.” she flirted with a wink, not once letting go of that staff so Innes suspected that her quiver was going to be very full in a minute as he was far too enchanted by her to say no.

(To say nothing of the fact that he was entirely too turned on by the idea of it, as well).


	25. Scissoring

Melady stripped of her clothes and no matter how many times Guinivere saw her nakedness, it never felt less special and it always caused quite the stir, both in her heart and her loins.

“Shall I, my lady?” Melady asked.

Guinivere smiled, coy, as she became enchanted with all the grooves and rivets of Melady’s body. She was a muscular woman, with a hard abdomen and a smattering of scars here and there. She fanned her hand out in front of her, musing on whether or not the more apt descriptor for Melady was “beautiful” or “handsome” because she was both, very easily. 

“Please.” Guinivere replied at long last.

Melady smiled to herself. She had a sturdy mouth but it looked so pretty when she smiled. She leaned in and she chastely kissed Guinivere, taking her breath away. She pawed at Guinivere’s far leaner body. At her robes and all the sashes that adorned her waist, slowly pulling her apart, taking it from the strings and going inwards until her velour garb fell around her. Like molted petals. She smiled as she played with a curl of her hair, the rest of her greenish blonde mane cascaded down her bare back.

Melady swallowed. Now it was her turn to be in awe of her lover and her lover’s body. 

Guinivere was thin. Perhaps sickly so and had a meek demeanour when transformed under the velveteen veneer of lust made her look more erotic than pitiful. Her eyes were a hithering olive green and her cupid’s bow lips slightly parted, begging for a kiss - and not just on her thin mouth but elsewhere too. She lifted her stick-like shoulders slightly and brought Melady’s attention to her brasserie and, more importantly, her breasts beneath the private regalia that she wore.

Melady nodded and she cupped Guinivere’s face, kissing the edge of her lips, the corner of her mouth before kissing a slow river downwards, along the line of her pulse. Guinivere sighed and her voice was a pure melody unto Melady’s ears. Melady’s heart fluttered, like the beating wings of her wyvern, and she moaned into her kiss.

Guinivere laughed, invited Melady further and their bodies began to untangle. She came down, flattened herself against the bed and brought Melady with her. She entwined their legs and she grinded against the mass of Melady’s strong, defined body with all the might with which she could muster which, admittedly, was not much. She felt like a butterfly against Melady but she didn’t mind, she relished it, even. 

Melady further kissed Guinivere into their bed: four posters with carved detailing made of rich mahogany wood, laden with a plush doona, it was quite the blissful nest for them to make love within. Melady pawed at her lover, her dearest princess, undoing each strap, each hook, and each button that there was between Guinivere and her pure, unadulterated nakedness with each swipe, lazy and with calculated clumsiness. It was all part of the foreplay and scattered into the kisses that they shared. Kisses that left them panting, without breath, and wet between the legs.

Finally, the remaining latch was unhooked and the last of Guinivere’s clothing which she could bloom from was undone. Melady pushed it away, giving her more room and she kissed between Guinivere’s breasts. She sighed onto her skin, making it ripple with goosebumps. Guinivere groaned and Melady was emboldened, listening to the dulcet sounds of Guinivere’s arousal.

She mouthed Guinivere’s left breast whilst fondling her right. She tongued over the brown of Guinivere’s nipple. Guinivere moaned and Melady savoured her delight; she writhed beneath the feeling of Melady. She was heavy but the pressure was oddly comforting. Securing. And her tongue was roaming but gentle, the same could be said about her hands, all calloused with years upon years of practising her lance.

“Pl-Please…” Guinivere whimpered as Melady alternated, giving her the briefest second of reprieve before she continued her methodology of sex onto her lover. “I want more. I want you to… I want you to touch me there.”

“Of course, my lady.” Melady replied. 

Her voice was even where Guinivere’s had been anything but, roiling and rollicking but ever royal. Words which were vulgar or obscene - such as words of genitalia and explicit acts - could never grace Guinivere’s mouth, it was simply far too unbecoming but Melady was accommodating. She nodded her head and her hand which had touched Guinivere’s breasts travelled downwards, snaked along her belly to scantly touch her beneath.

Melady gently fingered Guinivere, parting her labia and running her fingertips clockwise along her sensitive flesh. Guinivere nodded and Melady went deeper inside of her depths, stroking her clitoris slowly and making her breathe suddenly. Shrilly, like a whistle. 

“You are doing so well, my love.” Melady whispered, praising, unto Guinivere.

Guinivere moaned, her voice hitching and she squirmed. Her fingers and toes flexed as she instinctively tried to draw in on herself but she remained put so as to not clench Melady’s downward arm between her knees, like some needy brat.

Slowly, Melady drew Guinivere towards her orgasm and she watched her carefully. Honestly, Melady excised more pleasure from drawing it out of her lover than her own body. Guinivere moaned and simpered beneath her as she fingered her. Melady was made excited as she saw how Guinivere, bit by bit, surrendered herself to her climax, no matter how unseemly the faces she made were but, for what it was worth, though unvoiced, Melady thought Guinivere looked adorable. Her face was flushed red as her lungs ached from how she moaned and moaned and moaned again as Melady fingered her.

“Are you ready?” Melady asked and she withdrew a finger, she trailed Guinivere’s juices in love-hearts that she drew on her inner thigh, teasing her.

“I am, my love, I am.” she begged.

Melady hitched herself up and Guinivere obediently parted her legs for her, without even a word to say that it had been asked of her. How kind. Melady slotted herself between them, she lifted a leg and it half embraced Melady, searching for an anchor. Guinivere’s heart raced as she felt the heat of arousal that Melady’s sopping wet cunt gave off, even a breath away as they readied themselves for this course of their love making. She shivered as she waited for Melady to be content with their entwined position. 

Melady hooked an arm over Guinivere’s raised leg and nodded. Her eyes were sharp but her smile was easy. Relaxed.

“Please.” Guinivere asked of her with a needing voice. “Are you ready?”

“Of course.” Melady replied.

Melady gave a thrust and Guinivere whimpered as she felt the contact between their legs. Melady groaned and she hefted herself forward again; Guinivere instinctively bucked back. The ensuing friction alighted them both. Tingles down their spines as they felt and made those connections. Their clitorises enjoyed fleeting kisses that left them throbbing and wanting more. 

Melady took the lead and Guinivere was more reactive than that but neither one minded as they melded into euphoric rhythm. The pleasure between them was electric, grinding on one another, sighing and moaning. Melady was stronger, more controlling than Guinivere but she adored to be rocked to crescendo. She crooned beneath Melady who thrust against her and held her at a brink which had her overstimulated. At the crux of their bodies, interconnected, she felt the jolting wakes of pleasure course up through her.

They orgasmed mutually against one another, entangled in their legs as close as close could be in this position met at vertices. Melady came first, which she found surprising but it gave her an extra gust beneath her wings as she swelled with this sublime feeling of pleasure. She gave another buck of her hips and sighed, taking in a big breath afterwards, and she looked down at Guinivere; her heart and eyes softened.

Guinivere had all but melted against the bed. She was sprawled out, gorgeous and spread eagle, and panted, breasts heaving and her face pink. She looked so pretty as she went through the motions of her orgasm, her body weakening and Melady retreated. Her heart hammered, it was all she could hear until Guinivere found her voice after a long, long moment of throbbing repose.

“Th-Thank you, my love.” Guinivere stuttered out, sounding utterly at peace with herself. She looked equally serene.

Melady smiled to herself and placed a hand on her breast. “It is my honour, my lady.” she replied.

“Come cuddle then, my darling.” Guinivere said and she let her leg slip away from on high upon Melady’s mountain-like hip.

“I would like that very much.” replied Melady.

Melady settled herself once more and came to lay down next to Guinivere. She took the initiative, embracing her lover and snuggling in. Melady smiled warmly to herself as she felt Guinivere’s breath on her hair, like a halo of sunlight, and Melady rested her face against Guinivere’s breast, enjoying how she clutched at her with this embrace. Melady closed her eyes and she felt Guinivere play with her hair and the barest trace of a lullaby followed. 

“Sleep, my love, you have more than earned a rest.” Guinivere assured her.

“Thank you, dear.” Melady replied, sleepy, a yawn on her breath and she took the assurance to heart and fell asleep all but immediately in the sanctity of Guinivere’s love and embrace.


	26. Lingerie

“Does it please you, Lord Husband, to see me like this?” Deirdre asked.

Arvis was stunned to speechlessness as he feasted, body and soul, on the lovely Deirdre before him. 

Deirdre seductively sprawled out on his - their - marital bed. The dark of their sheets, a colour akin to unmelted iron ore, made her glow all but holy in comparison because of her paleness. Her hair haloed her, pure and white, but her garb was so vibrant. Scarlet, crimson, maroon: colours all such as those bedecked her in leather and lace and other frills. 

She was all done up in a corset which helped her hips to flare and to make her breasts seem fuller. It looked all very elaborate and to say nothing of the panties underneath, so shiny and satiny in contrast to the leather of the corset, the drawstrings encased in metal at the ends. She wore a garter on her left leg and gloves on her hands, all the way up to her shoulders. She was a heavenly delight for eyes as sore and miserable as his. Feeling a hunger rise, Arvis was eager to undo all her hard work with which she had prepared for him and him alone. 

Her visage was thrilling; Arvis could already feel his loins stir with lust as he approached Deirdre at her bedside. He knelt there and took her hand. He kissed her gloved knuckles and adored how the fabric felt on his lips; it left an echoing sensation that had the power to drive him mad. 

“May I?” he asked, eyes flicking up as he still kissed her hand.

“You may.” Deirdre permitted him with a quiet voice.

It was sensual, she thought, how Arvis unrolled her glove on her right hand. He took it off her slowly, starting up her arm and bringing it down, keeping a transfixed gaze unto her. His eyes were alight like smouldering coals and when he finished, he kissed her bare skin. On her shoulder, on her fore arm, on her wrist, and finally on her knuckles. He worked her over with lavishing praise on his breath, unspoken.

“I’m going to join you on the bed now.” Arvis said at long last.

“Please.” Deirdre murmured.

His movements were like that of a carnivore animal, Deirdre thought. Calculated and lithe. He climbed up on the bed and was seamlessly swift in pinning her there. Their hands entangled and Deirdre found it curious that Arvis still held onto her glove. She liked how it felt between their palms though as their fingers intertwined.

Arvis held her dearly, legs slotted in and over hers. He kissed her neck and suckled at her pulse. She had such a spectral appearance, he always feared she was some phantasm of his mind’s creations, but kissing her she could feel her warmth throb on his lips reminded me that she was alive. She was real. She was all his. He could even feel their wedding bands clink against one another as he continued to kiss Deirdre into the depths of their bed.

“Arvis, please, this feels… nice.” Deirdre murmured. 

“I am thrilled to hear that, my love.” Arvis replied.

He lifted his head and his eyes were soft. Inside of himself, he feared that such words were too soon or somehow otherwise unbecoming as he knew intangibly that something about their marriage was wrong. Arvis suppressed such notions, not allowing himself to be riddled with melancholy when he should be otherwise ecstatic. He swallowed and he brought himself up into the cobra position, one hand balancing himself as the other trailed his fingertips across the leather of Deirdre’s corset that she wore. It was smooth and felt like bliss on his fingertips but he wanted more. He toyed with one of the strings which drew across her belly in criss-crosses. 

“I want you to kiss my breasts,” Deirdre said on the edge of a breath, “so please, stop denying us both what we want.”

Arvis smiled. “You are too good for me, Deirdre.” Arvis replied. His voice was warm like embers. 

“I love you,” Deirdre murmured, “I want to be a comfort to you.”

“You are.” Arvis replied.

He took her hand and placed it on his cheek. She could feel his small breaths on her skin. He savoured the moment and returned her hand to her. Deirdre stilled herself and like a doll, Arvis undressed her.

He ran his hand up her side and moved inward. He tugged at the drawstrings, roughly tearing apart the knots they were in. Fortunately, they had been rather loose to begin with; no wonder Deirdre had been hesitant to move from her artfully curated position on the bed. The corset began to loosen and her breasts spilled out; Arvis’ heart jumped to his throat looking at the pale of her skin. He could see her veins and seeing the blue-purple stripes aroused him.

Arvis lowered himself against Deirdre. She embraced him, held him steady as he kissed her. She sighed over him as he kissed her with the highest honours. His lips on her skin, skirting inwards over the tops of her breasts before latching onto her nipples. Deirdre moaned, a strange, dribbling noise as she disliked being loud, but Arvis relished it all the same as if she had responded with the full extent of her voice.

Between her legs, she felt his arousal - hard - as he kissed her. Suckled her. His tongue swirled around her areolas and he mouthed her with all his energy. He grinded against her and pulled back his mouth, drool trailing and his eyes were lost. Lost with lust as he looked unto. He moved a hand back and he touched her through her panties, his fingers were tentative as he groped her down there. She was wet and he could feel it, she was still halfward in her corset.

“I am going to consummate you fully.” Arvis informed her.

Deirdre seemed a touch playful in her smile as Arvis pulled back her underwear, barely removing it at all. He did the same to his own garb. He pulled down his pants and grinded against her. Deirdre moaned as she felt Arvis enter her. He held her steady through it, nuzzling his head into the crook of her neck and shoulders, kissing her breast as he thrust against her. He listened to the sound of her heart which beat increasingly rapid as he made his love to her.


	27. Semi-Public/Public Masturbation

Dedue’s given room at the Academy was not his true sanctuary or true haven. 

It was simply a place for him to keep his things and a place for him to sleep. As such his true sanctuary and his true haven was the greenhouse. It was here that he felt as though he could breathe. Despite being indoors, the air inside the greenhouse was cleaner than it was inside his room. It was fresh and watery in smell, to say nothing of the gorgeous scents that emanated off all the wonderful flowers that he tended to. Looking after these flowers, seeing them bloom and seeing them wilt owed Dedue the catharsis that he yearned for. A private excision of all the things that he tried not to dwell on.

In a muddle of melancholy and hormones, Dedue closed the door to the greenhouse and immediately felt the temperature go up. The sticky humidity was as alien to him as the frozen wasteland of Faergus as it was dry and arid where he hailed from but he welcomed it as he took off his jacket. He looked around and shuffled about, trying to find somewhere in which he would be comfortable.

It was the sort of thing which he absolutely should do in hiding but in his actual room but he felt equally, if not moreso, secure inside here than there. So, the greenhouse would do fine as he released some of the pent up tension inside of him that he felt so tight and irritable. Besides, his actual room posed quite a grand issue. 

The walls were decent. This was an Academy for royalty and other members of the elite so there was no expense lost. The wood they used was of fine quality and the stone was sturdy but Dedue was a cautious man by nature. He thought but it was unbecoming and as such, didn’t want to take the chance that he would be heard by his next door neighbour, the enigmatic teacher Byleth. 

Byleth was quite the oddity. Dedue had never encountered a woman like her. She was cold but perceptive. She never smiled by that didn’t cut down her emotions, she could still prove to be kind and earnest despite how little her facial expressions moved. She was eccentric but well meaning; she had a fierce loyalty and protective instinct. She taught well despite having the scantest qualification to her name. Deduce felt like an equal at her side despite her supposed authority over him, be it by the difference of their ethnicity or the difference of their power as student and teacher. 

Now, Dedue was no cad like others in his class who shan’t be named but he did find himself attracted to young Professor Byleth, regardless. He wasn’t sure if she felt the same, or if he would even have the gall inside of himself to pursue her, but he was still fine with letting that attraction turn his hand. Even in some place as publically used as the greenhouse. 

The thought of being caught crawled underneath Dedue’s skin. The glass panes were shiny but opaque; someone could see him and his unique silhouette through them. The foliage of all the various plants made for good cover; someone could still see him amid the greenery. The nervousness that he felt was uncharacteristic and unpalatable but he still tried.

Dedue sat on the cold, wet tiling underfoot, kept his knees close to his chest and trapped his wrist between his thighs. He palmed his erection, the hardness of it surprised him and he felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. He shouldn’t be doing this. And yet…

Dedue grunted to himself as he massaged his erection through his Academy trousers. The fabric was strong and firm, hid him quite well but he pressed on. He placed a hand over his mouth and controlled his breathing. He closed his eyes and stilled himself, he focused on how the sound of his heartbeat had been amplified and it was quickening bit by bit since the objection of his admirations appeared within the darkness of his mind’s eye.

It was gauche. He should stop. But he didn’t. Instead, he pulled back the high waisted hem of his trousers so he could better pleasure himself. He grasped his cock and jerked himself slowly. Awkwardly. His fingers curling detachedly around his length, moving himself oh so slightly, just over and over. He wasn’t exactly a romantic fellow, there was no flourish to how he masturbated. Only the pervasive sense that he was going to get caught so his guards kept up.

But as the seconds turned to minutes, he picked up speed and refined his technique. He kept a careful eye out; beside him, where there were gaps into the floral and leafy arrangements which hid him and towards the door, worried he would see some figure there. However, for now, there was no one and so, Dedue could masturbate in reletive peace.

Which he did. Again, no romance or flourish to his technique but he was getting off. Getting hard. And he relished how his warm breath, vaguely smelling of mint, felt on his palm as his panting grew more and more frequent with how he jerked off. He traced the ridges of his corona and stroked back down his shaft before giving a sharp, sudden jerk. He used that for a bit and it made his heart beat faster in his chest.

He knew, logically, that he might enjoy himself more if he added a little bit of fantasy to the practical movements below that he afforded himself but he felt guilty. All his sexual thoughts kept coming back to her, the one who had to, of course, live in the room next door to him. Even something as chaste as remembering how delighted Byleth had been when he had made her dinner as thanks for protecting Dimitri that night in the hinterlands felt wrong to him.

All in all, he wasn’t an expressively sexual person. He had a sudden prick of envy towards those who could be but still, he closed his eyes again and sure enough, there she was. Her full, tough figure; her tights which were sheer and patterned with flowers; her fluffy blue-cyan hair.

Dedue swallowed and he imagined this Byleth of his and taking her for a dance. For a meal. An ordinary date and his view of her never dipped beneath the neck; he felt his cheeks burn whenever he teetered too close to acknowledging that the woman was very much well endowed in the chest.

Dedue jerked off just that little bit faster. His sudden, involuntary pick up of speed frightened him. Lulled him into a false sense of security and felt himself throb beneath his fingertips. Uncertainly, he opened his eyes and he was haunted by bluish coloured phosphenes as his eyes scanned the perimeter for any sign that someone might interrupt him or otherwise learn of the unsavoury things that he was doing inside the greenhouse. 

With his privacy secured and confirmed once more, Dedue permitted himself to come. He cringed as he moaned into his hand, holding onto his face a little bit tighter as he orgasmed. He came more on himself than on the floor, thank goodness. As he had curled up, mostly, it was caught on his trousers and his thighs but any pleasure he felt from his orgasm was sullied by the thought that he would have to clean up afterwards. He was responsible like that but he still had an appreciation for his head throbbed and heart raced. 

Thank you for the date, Byleth, Dedue told himself in his thoughts as he got up with more than a grunt than what he meant. He looked around for a rag or the like to clean up, most of what his eye caught on was covered in dirt or fertiliser, making him mildly irritable. Still, he was satisfied with himself, no matter how curt or brusque. 

He glanced once more towards the door as he searched for something to clean himself up with. It seemed he was still all on his lonesome. How fortuitous but he scolded himself. This was absolutely not a habit that he should bank on but for today, he would concede that the risk had been worth it and if he could concede one more, one thing that embarrassed him, he hoped that it would only ever be the good Professor who walked in on him.


	28. Body Worship

Eir had never seen anything like it.

She was enchanted by the way light interacted with the delicate scales of Triandra’s wings. Be it when they were basked in sunlight or moonlight, they simply shimmered and shone like a jewel whenever she happened to be so graced by the right beam of light. Eir could stand there, transfixed, and staring when the right fancy struck and Triandra seemed… embarrassed by it. Worse still, she seemed to see herself as dreary and miserable rather quite the spectacular and marvellous thing that Eir saw very viscerally in her. In the reams of colour of her wings and even in the sharpness of her gaunt cheekbones and in her movements.

Dökkálfar were not a species seen frequently in Hel, Eir thought. They were an extremely long lived species but they were still alive and if one was alive, one was susceptible to dying. Although, in their case, it was difficult to discern them from others who made the journey to Hel after passing. Unlike the Manakete and similar species, the Dökkálfar and the Ljósálfar did not retain many, if any, of the traits which marked them any different to humans and other mortals such as they.

Crossing over from one realm to the other, especially in due course of death, was a traumatising experience for anyone but especially to them as it ripped the wings off their backs. Ripped their pretty wings to shreds and even marred their pointed ears. And so, those of this long lived species who made that fearful passage, spent eons in hiding, appalled that they had seemingly let their most precious treasure, their wings upon their backs, to be destroyed.

And because of that, Triandra was among the few Dökkálfar that Eir had glimpsed, let alone met and become rather enamoured with.

Just watching her from afar, seeing her moods, Eir could feel that she would have much in common with Triandra. She knew that misery and that melancholy well. It was a close companion to her, dearer to her than she wanted it to be. Still, she hoped, perhaps, together, they could come to examine other emotions of more modes of pleasantry and joy.

For now, Triandra was emotionally resistant but she let Eir touch her. 

What an honour it was, for a girl such as she, to be touched by royalty.

Eir touched her delicately. She slotted down between her legs, in a gossamer slip, the sleeves of which were falling off her shoulder and down her white as a droughted bone arm. And now, from behind, she was fit to admire and examine Triandra as thoroughly and indecently as she desired.

Eir began at the top of Triandra’s wings wherein she intended for her eyes and hands to travel inwards, unto her back and where they connected to her flesh there. The apex of her wings were identical, left and right. They twitched and shivered slightly whenever Eir even did so much as move her hand close to Triandra’s wings.

“Sorry…” she murmured. “It’s, um, involuntary.”

Eir remained starstruck though, by the dazzling hues of blue and indigo as she mustered the courage to touch Triandra’s wings when they wanted to remain very much untouched. Her heart pounded slightly faster in her chest. They were soft, she realised with a mesmerised blink of her eyes. They felt nothing like skin or bone, nor flesh but something else entirely. Something delicate and silken.

“They’re beautiful…” Eir breathed at long last as she trailed her fingertips along the cilia fringe.

She had never noticed before, until now, but there was a fringe of excess on the edge of Triandra’s wings. From far away, they seemed so perfectly rounded off, like what happened to a stone in a stream after millenia but she saw now, the hairs and fringe which framed the millions of scales which bedecked Triandra’s wings. It was interesting and took Eir’s breath away. 

Eir let her hand and gaze trail inwards. She followed the pure black veins of Triandra’s wings, how they became the inner and outer coastal margins and somewhere in it all, also became an artwork. Triandra still flinched and winced, wings flicking away from Eir, as Eir admired them. 

Still, Triandra took note of her fortune. How lovely it was to have such a respectful admirer such as Eir. Her hands were airy and light, she felt mostly unfettered compared to how grabby some could when enthralled by the sight of her wings. She appreciated that dearly as Eir admired her so closely and so personally.

Now that Eir’s admirations had followed all the colours and veins to the base, where the hindwing was just tucked and overlapped beneath the forewing, she realised just how dazzling Triandra was. Eir placed her hand on Triandra’s back and Triandra flinched.

“You’re very cold.” she said. 

Eir sulked. She thought it to be a complaint but to Triandra, it was merely a jolted observation. But still, Eir glowered as she kept her cold hand placed on Triandra.

Along the length of her fingertips, her fingers long and knobbly, Eir could count the sparkles that emanated off the spindly, almost opaque-white bone which kept Triandra’s wings hoisted onto her back. It was a flexible and almost plastic little bone that pulsated with a miraculous energy of light coloured in depressive tones of blue and purple. Eir adored it though and when she waited, her hands were dusted with these very same sparkles but she wondered if it was merely the dander of a Dökkálfar than anything magical. Either way, if it were simple or if it was complicated, she thought it beautiful.

She ran her hand back, moving at her wrist and Triandra gasped. She arched her back slightly and Eir smiled to herself. As enamoured with Triandra’s wings as she were, there were other aspects of her body worthy of equal worship. Nearest of all was the pale flesh of her ass. 

“You are beautiful.” Eir said, breathless.

Triandra buried her head further into her arms as she laid in the nest that she called a bed. The tips of her ears were a faint scarlet, Eir noticed, eyes flicking up towards her lover’s head. It seemed that she didn’t accept the compliment but Eir was undeterred.

She swirled arcane symbols onto Triandra’s cheeks with her fingertips. She shivered every time and Eir thought her to be a poor soul since she had hands like death. But she enjoyed it, as time lingered, she elicited greater and greater reactions simply from trailing her cold fingers over Triandra’s skin until Eir wonder if she could push her anymore.

She took a breath and she plunged a sole finger into Triandra’s pussy from behind. She bucked her hips to that and cast a scowl over her shoulder.

“I mean it,” Eir insisted though her voice was soft, “I think you are beautiful, I love you, let me do this to you.”

Triandra nodded but she kept her rose maroon head in her lap of arms as she let Eir finger her. Working open her labia, ghosting past her clitoris, swirling her sole finger inside of her pussy and making her moan with great hesitation. But Eir minded not. She kept her eyes on the prize of Triandra’s wings, beginning to feel wet between her legs as she felt Triandra become aroused herself. But Eir’s greatest pleasure was undoubtedly to watch Triandra’s wings wince and flinch in tandem to how she fingered Triandra’s pussy. The shivered, trembling motions that ran up and down Triandra’s wings’ coastal margins delighted Eir, further and further motivating her. With a gasp and unpermitted, Eir slid a second finger inside of Triandra just for more of that dance her wings did.


	29. Degradation/Humiliation

Miriel really enjoyed being in control. Olivia appreciated that. In fact, she was enamoured with it, it was one of the contributing reasons why Olivia had been attracted to Miriel in the first place, even.

Beneath the broad rim of her hat, Miriel never had a hair out of place. It was all smooth and ironed down, cut to concave precision. When she cast her spells, all hand surged through the air and her fingers curved into all the correct angles, the same ones every time. She had a way of speaking which was calculated and even, it assured Olivia that her spiralling anxieties were silly and yet, she never used her language to invalidate Olivia and make her feel silly for having silly anxieties.

As such, when Miriel suggested that she and Olivia bring this finite sense of control into the bedroom, Olivia leapt at the chance to. She knew that she would be a safe and secured submissive beneath Miriel’s reign and she was correct in thinking that. The collars that Olivia was made to wear were always the perfect size for her; the tools that Miriel used on Olivia's body were always clean and soft; the bondage that Olivia was done up to was tied in mathematical beauty. There was not a complaint that Olivia could have unto Miriel as her domme.

But this suggestion was a bit… different to the others that they had done.

Olivia liked being done up in ropes. She often wore raiments and chains as fashion, having Miriel secure the next evolution - the rope - to her was a heart-throbbing tactile experience that she adored. She even liked the sensation of having ice and melted wax on her skin at different times, Miriel’s experiments on her in that regard were a lot of fun as well, Olivia relished being the subject of them because she adored that look in Miriel’s eyes when she was in control. Best of all, Olivia liked being rewarded when she was being a good girl, too. Being rewarded for being tied up, for being a canvas to Miriel’s experiments, and even being Miriel’s own personal lap dancer.

But this was a little bit more… niche. Yes, that’s how Olivia was going say to say it, to be polite. A little bit unexpected. Miriel called it bathroom control. Olivia called it bizarre. But she wasn’t going to complain. She was more gungho than most people realised beneath her erratic personality. She wanted to try anything once… even bathroom control, after all. It had control in the name and whilst it didn’t seem overtly erotic, Olivia was still game since Miriel promised the reward to end all rewards afterwards and Olivia  _ really _ wanted to know what that entailed.

So for now. Olivia squirmed where she sat. Intently and keenly observed by Miriel who leaned across the counter, not wanting to miss a single twitch or flinch or wince that Olivia demonstrated as she was half an hour into this bout of bathroom control.

“I want you to drink… two hundred and fifty more milliliters of water.” Miriel said.

“What?” Olivia exclaimed, grimacing. “How much have I drunk already? I-I’m really not thirsty, Miriel.”

“Mistress.” Miriel interrupted her, adjusting her glasses smugly. “We are in scene, remember, dearest.”

Olivia licked her lips but she nodded. “But Mistress,” she protested, “look at how much water I’ve already drank,” she indicated the crystalline pitcher that Miriel was already reaching for to refill her tumbler, “I-I’m not thirsty.”

“I insist you are, dearest, I know what’s good for you and proper hydration is key to your active lifestyle as a dancer employed to the Shepherds.” Miriel corrected her.

“Understood, mistress.” Olivia conceded.

She shrank in on herself as she watched Miriel refill her glass. By Olivia’s estimate, as the proper numbers that Miriel undoubtedly recalled from heart, she had drunk about three-quarters of a pitcher that held about a little more than a litre. With yet more of it poured out, not much water remained in the crystalline pitcher.

Olivia eyed the new amount in her already refilled thrice tumbler. She licked her lips and her mouth felt so wet. Her stomach squirmed. She really wasn’t feeling thirsty but if she thought about it too much, she realised what she was feeling. She really needed to pee and the embarrassment of it flushed through her.

Miriel glanced at her, “Does mistress need to help or are you fine with doing it on your own time?” she inquired pointedly.

“I-I’m a big girl.” Olivia interjected, harried. 

In a spurt of embarrassment, Olivia grabbed the glass and gulped down the glass. Miriel watched, fascinated, as Olivia swallowed all the water in one go. She hiccupped at the end of it and put the back of her hand across her wet mouth afterwards. Her stomach gurgled, disagreeing immensely with how much water it had been made to take. 

Olivia grimmaced.

“How do you feel?” Miriel inquired, peering in closer so she could see every droplet across the curve of Olivia’s upper lip.

“Not… great.” Olivia admitted and she flinched. “I, um, I need to er…”

“Urinate?” Miriel prompted her.

Olivia nodded, cheeks flushing a bright pink and she fidgeted with her fingers.

“Exellent.” Miriel stated, even of voice.

Olivia’s eyes lit up. “Does this mean I can go to the ladies’ room?” Olivia asked, far too excited to ask such a question. This bathroom control thing was easy. And Miriel loved to see such premature joy.

“That’s not what I said.” Miriel snidely told her. “We move onto the second phase now.”

“Second… phase?” Olivia echoed.

“Yes, second phase. I have something for you.” Miriel said.

“Oh boy…” Olivia muttered to herself.

Miriel ejected herself from behind the table that they had been idling behind, she put her hands on its surface and then spoke, “I want you to stand up as well, Olivia, dearest.”

“Understood, mistress.” Olivia conceded.

She stood up but she was sullen about it, her head hung low. Miriel was most pleased and she went to fetch something: two pails of water which she quickly foisted onto Olivia. Their fingers entangling and intertwining with each other and around the arch of the pail’s handle. Olivia still managed to grasp onto it and she was immediately brought down by how heavy they both were.

“Mistress…?” she whined.

“Uh-uh.” Mirel said and she wagged a finger at Olivia. “I want proper posture, dearest. None of this slouching and certainly no lollygagging of the mouth.”

Olivia nodded. 

She suppressed a groan as she lifted her shoulders back and straightened her spine. But it only took a moment before it felt like torture, in her muscles and as an unpleasant burn within them. Mirel watched, most fascinated as Olivia kept a strong look of neutrality so as to not betray her inner turmoil. All sorts of terrible and humiliating feelings brewed within her chest.

“M-May I ask a question?” Olivia asked. Her legs felt like jelly and her arms felt like cement.

“Of course, I encourage curiosity and a clear dialogue.” Miriel replied.

“What is the purpose of this…?” Olivia asked.

“To enhance the scene, of course.” Miriel explained. “Enjoying it?”

“N-No, not really…” Olivia replied and her expression twisted.

The sensation was a slow burn. It just worsened over time even though it wasn’t anything arduous. But her hands were going numb but she could barely think because the alarm in her brain which told her when she needed to pee was going off: a howling siren which made her quiver. She sucked in a sudden breath and her face reddened.

“Oh, you poor diddums.” Miriel said. “You must be so close, yes?”

“I-I am, mistress. It’s - It’s horrible.” Olivia said. 

“One minute. I’ll count. And then you can get your reward.” Miriel promised her.

Olivia’s eyes lit up. Her attention most certainly grabbed as she tried to resist uncomfortable urges. She shifted her weight slightly and forced herself to hold onto the buckets of water. She closed her eyes, clenched them shut, and tried not to think about water. But her stomach gurgled again and her bladder felt extremely full. Fit to burst. She took in another sharp breath.

Miriel watched most satisfied as she counted. She savoured every inch of Olivia’s body as she trembled with the need to urinate and the need to keep her arms up. Every second was languid and torturous but Olivia fared so well. Miriel couldn’t be prouder as she took her sweet time to count - and Olivia was none the wiser as she remained strong under the unique duress that she felt.

“Fifty-seven seconds… fifty-eight-seconds… fifty-nine seconds…” Miriel counted and she took a breath herself, most pleased. “Sixty seconds. Olivia, you may release.”

Her words were inadvertently hypnotic. Olivia’s heart leapt with joy as she crouched down. The pressure releasing everywhere; valves and faucets turning. She placed the pails delicately on the floor and she sighed contentedly but her legs buckled. And so did her will to remain poised and the like.

“O-Oh no…” Olivia stammered and she started to cry.

Alas, tears were not the only fluids that she leaked. She wet herself and it felt so hot with humiliation. Her cheeks, her thighs. It felt as though her whole body burned with embarrassment as urine soaked through her panties and harem pants. Pooling, puddling but it just kept flowing even though she begged herself to stop. Her words were useless against herself as she sobbed, wetting herself.

Worse still… it was such sweet relief to no longer have to hold it in - or even to hold those buckets. Olivia soaked up the freedom of it, as gross a feeling as it came sullied.

Miriel crouched down, careful not to wet so much as the tip of her shoes on Olivia’s piss as she drew in nearer. She stroked Olivia’s cheek, wiped away her tears, and pecked her.

“You did most excellent, my dear.” Miriel said and her voice trailed off.

Olivia sniffled. “Th-Thank you.” she murmured. Her heart hammered as she finally finished, both crying and urinating.

“And now for your reward.” Miriel whispered, so dulcet. “I love you.” She kissed Olivia on the lips.

Olivia smiled into the kiss, hot and wet and sticky, but she felt loved. Miriel’s kiss was relieving as well, though for different feelings.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?” Miriel prompted her. 

Olivia nodded and Miriel helped her stand. She was a little bit shaky after the scene as Miriel escorted her out of the tiled kitchen. She was pampered, thereafter, and counting her lucky stars that Miriel’s reward was not so twisted as simply being the relief that she felt after being allowed to urinate at all under her dominion as domme.


	30. Fem-Dom

It always amused Lilina that Roy reminded her so much of fire. He had that fluffy mop of orange hair and such a hot blooded personality as well. Everything about him blazed bright and even when he was down and gloomy, he was more like a smouldering ember than stubbed out charcoal. He wielded the Binding Blade that glinted so magnificently in the sunlight and with it, he burned through their enemies on the battlefield. And yet…

And yet, his lineage was of Ice Dragons rather than Fire Dragons like his appearance and temperament might allude to.

It was all a mighty secret, Lilina knew that well. She had only been a child, wide eyed and oblivious, when she stumbled upon her best friend’s secret. The reason why his ears were a little bit pointed and why his teeth seemed a little bit sharper than her own. One little accident, unhappy or happy, was all it took and a tail unfurled and his hands turned to claws. But even as she saw Roy inadvertently, and uncontrollably, shapeshift, she had no been afraid. It was only Roy, her happy go lucky best friend. 

Regardless, at the age of six or so, she was sworn to every layer of secrecy that there was when found out; the most sacred and dangerous to break, of course, being the pinkie promise about it that she shared with Roy first and followed very far by all the oaths that Lord Eliwood and Lady Ninian put her under. 

And even in the worst of war, that secret remained a secret. Not once did Roy shed his armour in favour of scales as he tried to right the wrongs that the Bern Army razed across their land. Lilina thought it was very noble of him but she also suspected that he didn’t know how to control that power. Unlike Fae and the other Divine Dragons, he had no Dragon Stone to seize his inner monster with but, fortunately, where he was brawn, Lilina was brains and she was curious about this other self of Roy’s.

So, it was a good thing that Roy liked fire.

Or, at the very least, he liked Lilina and Lilina was fire. 

She had a natural affinity for Fire Magic, honed over years of practice and study and now she wielded Forblaze, and quite joyously at that with her precision. Precision that Roy trusted with his life time and time again in the battlefield and now, apparently, in a tryst as well.

“Is this okay…?” Lilina asked. Her eyes were huge as she awaited Roy’s reply.

She moved her hand further down Roy’s belly. He winced, chewed his lip as Lilina’s gentle hand seared pink marks on his skin. Her fingertips blazed with the weakest flames that she could muster. Lilina stroked him, trailing herself down along the stray, fire-red hairs from Roy’s naval to just below the hem of his underwear. She held herself steady there, the band on her nails barely lifted.

“I-It feels good.” Roy finally stuttered out.

Lilina was ecstatic to hear that. Her heart skipped a beat and she thrust her hand further downwards, into Roy’s underwear. 

She skirted the base of his cock; adding more of a hint of her nails and increased the warmth of her magic. Roy squirmed and he nodded, panting.

“Please,” he murmured, “I want you to… I want you to jerk me off.”

“Of course, sweetie.” Lilina replied.

She leaned in and pecked Roy’s cheek. He smiled when he felt her soft lips on his skin and Lilina thought that was cute; the patch that she kissed burned not with embarrassment but with adoration. With her other hand, she peeled back more of Roy’s light brown boxers. His cock sprang free and Lilina marvelled at just how hard that Roy had gotten with how she teased him.

Just as she had been asked, she jerked him off. She started off slow, in technique, sliding her curled fingers along his shaft, up and down and pausing where Roy really seemed to like it. When his chin jutted forward and the muscles in his arms which were keeping him up right clenched; those appeared to be his tells for pleasure and Lilina loved to watch him. Observe him. It was all part of the scientific method, she found herself joking on the inside as she tested him further.

She applied more heat to her handjob. The magic that blazed on her hands was visible now, tiny flicks of fire and Roy sputtered. Cried out. The noise was somewhere to the top of his lungs and left him barking, whimpering, but it was in pain, oh no, he was crying out for pleasure.

“M-More.” Roy writhed, his voice hoarse.

Lilina nodded and she swallowed.

She enhanced her magic to what she was considering to be the limit of this play. Roy writhed and he panted. Hard. His shoulders jerked about as Lilina rubbed him off. She sped herself up with how she grasped at his cock, sliding her hand up and down his erect length. Roy salivated and begun to drip pre-cum.

Curious, Lilina noticed those little beads of fluids and she glanced up at Roy. He was flushed and sweaty but looked to be in immeasurable bliss because of Lilina’s treatment of him so she steeled herself.

She moved her hand up his length again and paused at his cock head. It reddened with the flames and then she closed in on it. The pre-cum evaporated and she sucked in a sudden breath because of the awe of it. She glanced up at Roy again and he sighed. He was close; she could tell; they both could tell. Lilina swallowed but her own mouth felt dry as she kept her fire magic at the perfect potency which was clearly enough to evaporate anything bodily.

Lilina didn’t draw it out any further. She unwrapped a finger from around Roy’s cockhead and pumped him once more. The base of her fist making contact with the base of Roy’s cock. He shuddered at the impact, however slight and unnoticeable that it had been. 

Lilina squeezed him, making him really want it, he was all but trembling as Lilina held him with warmth and firmness. She stared at him intently, her blue eyes wide up until the very second that she uncoiled, like a trigger, and on the release. He came.

Roy orgasmed and Lilina bristled with curiosity. She had jerked Roy off a couple times before but nothing like this. She was mystified by how bodily it was when he came dry. Roy threw himself into the wake of it, legs kicking and arms clenching. His semen, for the most part, was evaporated by the flames of Lilina’s magic. 

Cautiously, when the show seemed to be over as Roy stilled, Lilina let go and put out the flames. There were marks, very minor burns, to Roy’s genitalia. It twitched as it flagged in the wake of his orgasm.

“Are you okay…?” Lilina asked.

“More than okay.” Roy heartily replied, leaning in so that he could kiss his girlfriend on the lips.

She giggled into it, entranced by Roy’s enthusiasm as his lips were curiously just that little bit cold, like pale frost, despite how warm the room was.


	31. Panties

Lute was a fucking weirdo. 

Kyle knew that, though. From the very moment he had signed up, he knew what he was getting into - even Artur warned him that the fathoms of Lute’s eccentricity were deeper than Kyle might have realised. At the time, Kyle had laughed.

Right now?

The priest might have had a point.

But that didn’t mean he was completely right as Kyle’s eyes inadvertently feasted on the utter sight of what he had stumbled upon. 

Lute was sprawled out on the floor by their laundry hamper; her back to their bathing station. She was two fingers deep inside of herself using her right hand, her slinky little purple dress barely on her skinny little shoulders, likely only held there by the dew of sweat that she had worked up masturbating. Her face was flushed and she sighed so contentedly, so perversely, as she kept a muzzle on herself using her left hand. All whilst clutching what Kyle identified to be his pair of underwear. His  _ used _ pair of underwear.

Lute looked as though she were having the time of her life, moaning into the fabric that she used to muffle herself and slowly, she acknowledged that the door to the bathroom had opened and that Kyle was standing there. Watching. Watching intently and trying to keep a casual hand over his crotch but Lute could see the definition of an erection beneath his trousers anyway, half palmed by his hand. She sighed contentedly and her gaze was half-lidded, lustful to say the least.

“All I asked,” Kyle began pointedly, he wasn’t mad but he was certainly pointed nonethless, “was that you did the laundry for a change.”

“I’m in the process of it.” Lute replied and her breath hitched at the end of her sentence, spun her voice into a whinny and she came to pant as she continued to masturbate during this conversation. “I just got distracted.”

“I can more than see that.” Kyle scolded her.

Lute laughed and she let go of the underwear that she had been holding onto. Kyle’s nose wrinkled. He could smell his musk from here and it disgruntled him. And yet, Lute had been up close and personal with it; his stomach was fit to churn because of it. 

“I promise that when I’m done, I’ll go out and do the laundry but for now,” she said and she leaned over herself, her open, sprawled legs and lanky belly, and she grabbed the laundry basket, she began to fossick around for something but she found what she wanted quite quickly, “why don’t you sink to my level and join me?”

She punctuated her question by throwing something up at Kyle. Kyle, ever a polished knight and brusque jock, did not catch what Lute had thrown up at him. Instead, with a look of dead fish eyes, it had simply slapped against his face, briefly, and then fell to the floor, where it slapped against the tiles underfoot. Kyle sighed and he tilted his head down to squarely look at the offending garment.

“You’re not fun…” Lute murmured.

She bent over again and picked up her own pair of underwear. She fingered the hems and drew it out so that it could be all shown off in all its glory. She smiled coquettishly. Like a cat. The garment in question was a pair of Lute’s panties. Used panties, to be precise. [expand].

Kyle sighed. “Hand it here.” he said and he sank to the floor alongside his girlfriend.

Lute very happily handed over her pair of panties to Kyle. He examined them slightly closer. He was the handyman around here, he did the cooking, he did the cleaning, Lute did the relaxing and was otherwise idle despite her claims that her research was incredibly, extremely important. Aside from the fact that they had sex every now and again, Kyle was more than acquainted with Lute’s hosiery but this was weirdly different. Unlike his girlfriend, he had never had the impulse to masturbate to used or dirty underwear but now that he was here, he may as well.

Lute smiled, crooked and deviant, as she put Kyle’s underwear back to her face and she huffed it. Uncertainly, Kyle mimicked. With his nose to the fabric, he could smell the discharge and Lute’s feminine musk in the bed of this pair of her panties. In his lap, his cock throbbed and Lute could tell instinctively. She knew exactly when to eye him up as he began to coax his cock out of his trousers, the crotch of which had begun to tent. 

Kyle closed his eyes and one-handedly grabbed his cock. He pumped it as he huffed Lute’s panties and yeah, he understood the impulse better now. Her underwear felt strangely luxurious along the jowls of his face and he breathed her scent in deep. With his eyes closed, he could better hear Lute masturbate to his pair of underwear, as well. The sound of her fingers pumping in and out of her sopping wet cunt; the way she panted as she did so. It was erotic. Kyle moaned as he jerked off.

Lute watched him in her peripheries. She slowed how she masturbated so that she could savour how Kyle did it. Watching closely as he thumbed over his head, stroked his shaft, and treated himself so kindly in the name of self pleasure. She was learning a lot - not that Kyle had ever complained that her techniques were poor or incompatible with him but it was always good to learn something new. She could have drooled as she languidly stroked her clitoris and played with her labia, circling herself and the like in decadence.

She inched closer to Kyle and leaned over, “We should switch…” she suggested, sultry, in his ear, her voice a murmur.

“Switch cumrags or switch hands?” Kyle asked.

“Ew, I don’t want my panties to sniff,” Lute replied, offended, “of course I meant hands, dumbass.”

“Thanks, honey, I love you too.” Kyle sarcastically retorted but he still went through with Lute’s suggestion.

His heart thumped his chest and his cock throbbed, but he still let Lute take over where he had started. He let their arms entangle as he put his hand in her pussy. Lute whimpered as he fingered her opening, perhaps a little more roughly than she liked or how he meant. As revenge, she squeezed his dick in a way that was thoroughly meant to be roughly but, unfortunately, and she did know this, Kyle was into that. He moaned as Lute jerked him off as hard as she could grasping him. He moved his two fingers inside of her slowly, as a unit and they began to meld to each other. Their noses and mouths still in the cloth of their smallclothes. 

They kept like that for a while. Wordless, only panting and moaning and making other such noises like that. They urged each other closer as they masturbated one another. Kyle felt his heart in his throat and all those unspoken thoughts - you’re so cute, Lute, you’re so fucking sexy sniffing my jockstrap - had began to explode in his mouth so he swallowed it all.

“We should come together.” he said, jolted unnaturally through the deluge of what had built up between them in the masturbation.

Lute nodded and she glanced at him, “That sounds nice.” she whispered.

Kyle’s heart fluttered and he smiled a dopey smile. He nodded fervently and continued to jerk Lute off; stroking her clitoris the exact way she liked it and Lute took the hint. They kept at going each other. Harder and more ardent until they were at their cruxes. The feelings beneath their skin and in their blood was utterly undeniable. Kyle came first, coming all over Lute’s hands and she liked the sensation of how his hot semen dripped down her wrist like candle wax and that made her come in turn. She lifted her chin and her chest bucked forward involuntarily and she came. Kyle smiled and watched as she rode out the feeling, he was always so impressed with how long she could come for, he knew his limits and knew them to be clumsy.

Lute sighed when she finished up and she flashed another smile at Kyle. “That was fun.” she said, plucky and cheeky.

Kyle only half listened to her, pouting slightly. He fiddled with his fingers and her panties, he made a slingshot and flung her pair back to her. She smiled as her face was hit with her panties.

“Now do the laundry.” he said. “For real this time.”

“Only if you clean up the bodily fluids on the floor.” Lute jeered at him.

“Deal.” Kyle relented.


End file.
